


Disaster Recovery

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aromantic, Asexual Character, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Character Study, Deaton-Centric, Fix-It, Missing Scene, Moral Ambiguity, Other, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, References to Depression, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27444709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: Everyone knows what the tragedy of the Hale House fire meant for the people of Beacon Hills.  It destroyed a family and drove the survivors to flee, burdened with guilt, regret, and pain.  But people forget that Alan Deaton also knew that family.  Talia Hale was an alpha, a friend, and someone he truly loved.  What did that loss mean to him?  How did he finally put his life back together?This work starts out as canon compliant, but moves into an AU after Season 2.
Relationships: Alan Deaton & Laura Hale, Alan Deaton & Scott McCall, Alan Deaton & Talia Hale
Comments: 38
Kudos: 26





	1. October 2003

**Author's Note:**

> I have worked out a chronology for the story. It was a task, I guarantee you.

In Alan Deaton’s living room stood an antique grandfather’s clock. It was built by Aaron Brokaw, son and heir of the great New Jersey clockmaker, Isaac Brokaw, in 1851. It had been part of Alan’s family for six generations ever since his great-great-great-grandfather, Nahum Deaton, had purchased it from the original R. H. Macy and Company’s department store on Sixth Avenue in New York in 1865. 

Nahum’s purchase of the clock was the first thing he did when he arrived in the city. He had not even secured a place to stay yet, and he carried only a single suitcase with him. The gesture was all that mattered to Nahum. He had told the story to his son who had told it to his son and it had passed down the generations until Alan’s father had told him. On the sidewalk of a place he didn’t know, surrounded by people who didn’t know him and would most likely be hostile to someone like him, he had planted his feet wide and made a promise.

“Time starts now.”

After that day, Nahum never mentioned the names of the family who had owned him, the address of the house where he had kept the family’s books and sorted their accounts and supervised the daily routine for their benefit, or even the name of the town where the house had stood and the family had lived. No descendant of his had ever looked for the Deatons of Georgia, and they probably never would. The only story of that period of his life which Nahum would relate to his children was the story of how he had left. He had taken the chest of gold coins from where the family had carefully concealed it from robbers and invading Yankees, and he had stood proudly before the old woman and told her calmly that it was back pay. Then he walked out of the house and never once looked back. 

Every day, Nahum would wind the clock. Every year after that, every day, the head of the Deaton household would wind the clock. 

The heirloom had survived fires and riots, epidemics and world wars. It had survived dying children and bitter divorces. It had survived a long trip across the country to California. The wood that made up its case had aged but its varnish still shone. Some gears had had to be replaced, but it still measured the hours. The glass of the face plate had become worn with the touch of six generations. Yet, it remained.

And every day, Alan would wind the clock.

Before he closed the glass case on that particular autumn night, he checked the Brokaw against his phone. Both said twenty-three minutes to midnight. With a satisfied sigh, he closed the face plate. Usually, this would be when he would turn in after putting the cover over Simon’s cage, but not that night. He was expecting visitors, and their meeting had great importance. He would wait up as long as necessary.

Instead, he stepped into the small kitchen and put on a kettle. His home was a two-bedroom Craftsman bungalow he had purchased the year he had opened his clinic. It sat on a cul-de-sac in one of Beacon Hill’s older neighborhoods. It wasn’t a mansion, but it served his needs. He had planted an herb garden in the back, though at this point in the seasons, it sat fallow. Fall had well and fully arrived; so far, the season had been cool and dry and the leaves had almost completely fallen from the trees, leaving only pale grass struggling between barren tree trunks and evergreens.

He decided that tomorrow, business permitting, he would pack up the supplies his friend from Arizona had sent him, which were not located in the guest bedroom, and take them up to the attic. Marin might visit during Yuletide, and he wanted her to feel at home. She could read too much into things and might assume he resented her staying with him. 

A knock on the door made him smile. Talia had long had her own key to his house, yet she always knocked even when she knew that he was expecting her. It was her way of acknowledging the limits of their relationship. 

Of course, she wasn’t overly formal with him, either. When he opened the door for her, she strode in, clearly agitated, and went straight into the living room. “How could an absolute Neanderthal like Ennis Clark ever become an alpha?”

“I take it the summit didn’t go well. If this going to be one of those night where you mix rhetorical questions in with real questions and get annoyed when I don’t know which ones to answer, I’m going to need something stronger than tea. The Clark Pack has always valued physical prowess above anything else, and Ennis is quite … large.” Alan was surprised to find that someone else stood on his porch, someone he didn’t expect. “Please come in, Laura. Welcome to my home.”

Laura Hale extended her hand to him, which he suspected was designed to cover the fact that she must have had little idea who he was. She seemed remarkably self-possessed for a high-school senior, but Talia had been slowly preparing her for Laura’s eventual assumption of the alpha role. 

“Mom just told me about you.”

Alan shook her hand and then stepped back so she could enter. “Well, I’m glad she finally did. You can hang up your jacket there.”

He closed the front door behind her, glancing out into the darkened yard. He chose not to let it show on his face, but he was concerned. Talia had always wanted to keep his role as advisor a secret from the rest of her family. Her philosophy was that while an Emissary was important when it came to tying a pack to humanity, she didn’t want her children to limit those ties to him. Alan could not argue with the result, as the Hale children were all part of their community, though he did regret not being a bigger part of their lives. They were important to Talia, so they were important to him.

“Anyway, I have some water on. Would you two like some tea?” He strode back into the kitchen, watching as Talia made herself comfortable on the couch and tossing her shawl over her head. Laura sat down less flamboyantly. “So tell me what has got the pair of you so upset.”

Laura looked up at him. “Ennis declared a vendetta.”

“He did more than that,” sighed Talia. “He carved a spiral in the side of the distillery with his claws. Why must werewolves be so dramatic, Alan?”

“I’ve talked to you about this before,” he answered as the kettle began to whistle. Simon cawed from his perch. “Alienation from society begets alienation from the norms of that society. Werewolves are not human, and they cannot escape that fact, so they often don’t feel the need to conform to human conceptions of taste.”

“Mom, you’re not one to talk. You showed up at the meeting in wolf form.”

Talia pulled her shawl off her face. “It’s called presentation, Laura. I needed to establish my superior position in order to manage the summit as little as I managed to do.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “Presentation, drama. Po-tay-to, po-tah-toe.” 

Alan certainly caught the resemblance between Talia and her eldest child. He brought in the tea tray and set it on the table in front of them. “I have honey and sugar, whichever you prefer, Laura.” He settled himself down on his own chair. “So, Ennis will begin a violent campaign against the Argents.”

“Most likely.” Talia reached for the honey, her preferred sweetener. “Deucalion and I were unable to convince him of its futility.”

“But …” Laura began and then shut herself down. 

“Go on, Laura,” Deaton encouraged. This was obviously why she was here, after all.

“The Argents did kill Ennis’s beta. They did mutilate the body.” Laura pointed out. “Doesn’t he have … shouldn’t Ennis do _something?_ ”

Talia sipped her tea. “You’ll find, Laura, that sometimes doing nothing, while extraordinarily difficult, is far better than acting without an end goal in mind.” 

“Killing a hunter — even the hunter who killed the Clark beta — won’t bring that beta back. It won’t repair the damage to their pack. It certainly won’t discourage the Argents or any other hunting family from continuing to pursue werewolves,” Deaton explained. “They see it as their duty to keep the supernatural in check. Ennis’s revenge will offer, at most, temporary satisfaction. At least until the next casualty.”

“And it’s not just,” Talia frowned. “I don’t want to sound like a school kid at recess, but Ennis’s beta drew first blood, even if it was an accident, which my investigations cast doubt on.”

“You didn’t bring that up at the summit.”

“My goal wasn’t to insult Ennis, who’s a hothead. It was to encourage patience.” 

Alan glanced at Talia, for he hadn’t known that she had looked into it. “Your mother understands that the only way to stop the cycle of vengeance is to … stop. On the other hand, we shouldn’t ignore the possibility that members of the Argent family are acting in bad faith.”

The alpha smirked. “You mean Gerard.”

“You do?” Laura asked, confused, and kept looking between them. “Deucalion talked about meeting with him.”

Talia shook her head sadly. 

“It is always a mistake to look at any organization, even if they are pack or family, and assume that they all share the same ethical outlook. When Gerard’s wife was alive, werewolves could rely on her to at least be conscientious in her decision-making and act in accordance with their Code. I think it would be very dangerous to assume that Gerard has the same degree of dedication.”

“He is filled with hate, the same way that Ennis is,” Talia complained after Alan was finished. “Only he is significantly more intelligent and has far more influence.”

“Isn’t there anyone who can bring him to heel?” Laura wondered, looking at Deaton.

“Victoria Argent, his daughter-in-law, is technically the Matriarch of the Argent family, but practically, she has little authority. She wasn’t born an Argent, and she is also looked down upon because she chose to raise her daughter Allison as a normal American teenager. Kate Argent, Gerard’s daughter, is also a hunter, but she has shown little interest in leadership.”

Laura sucked on her lip. “I don’t get why you disapprove of both Ennis’s and Deucalion’s ideas, Mom.”

“Gerard cannot be trusted to negotiate for peace, and war will only strengthen his hand. The best tactic, in my opinion, is to simply outlive him. We can only hope that Victoria or Kate or even Allison might one day return reasonable leadership to the family.”

“Okay.” But Laura didn’t look completely convinced. 

They continued to talk about the situation for another hour. Most of the topics were about things that Alan and Talia had already discussed before, but it was clear that the alpha wanted Laura to hear them. She also wanted her daughter to see how she interacted with an Emissary. Finally, the night grew late and Talia suggested that they let Alan sleep. She sent Laura out to warm up the car, but it was transparent to everyone in the room that the alpha wanted a moment alone with him.

“I knew you would eventually bring her to see me, but I thought it would be _after_ she graduated high school.”

Talia smiled at him. “That was the plan.”

“What’s changed? She’ll graduate in seven months.”

“You could call it instinct, Alan.” She frowned and looked past him towards the Preserve and, in the distance, her own home. “I can feel it. Bad times are coming, and I need to be prepared. The _Hales_ need to be prepared, which mean she needs to learn everything I can teach her as fast as I can possibly teach it.”

“I will be here for you as much as I am able.”

She placed a hand on his cheek. “I know. I’m so glad you’ve chosen to help my family. Never forget that.” She turned and walked away.

Alan watched her leave, and perhaps it was a trick of the moon, but the night seemed a little darker.

**~*~**

Appropriately, it was raining as Alan walked through the forest.

He enjoyed his infrequent hikes through the Preserve. He enjoyed the utter simplicity of the trees, the serenity of the terrain, even as predators stalked prey through the undergrowth. People believed that serenity came from the absence of violence, but that was very seldom true. It was part of the natural world. When violence was done with purpose — to eat, to survive, to protect one’s offspring, to protect one’s herd — then it could not disrupt the Balance. 

Yet, what he had to deal this evening was the farthest thing from a virtue as you could possibly get. He wasn’t going to enjoy anything about this journey at all.

Alan paused at the sound of a twig snapping in the woods. He wasn’t afraid of any predator that he could come across in the forest, even the two-legged variety. Instead, he needed to avoid witnesses. What he was doing was completely against the law, but the situation was dire, and Talia wouldn’t have asked him if she could do it herself. Everything would be for naught if he was spotted by someone other than a Hale.

He glanced behind him. One of the first things that his mentor had taught him was how to walk through the woodlands and leave little or no trail behind him. A werewolf could have tracked him by scent, he supposed since he didn’t have the means on him to conceal it, but human trackers would be hard pressed to follow him as long as he continued to be careful. Finally, he came over a low ridge of ground and reached his destination.

Peter Hale stood above the body of a teenage girl, studying her. He had with him a canvas bag, lying open beside and exposing the tools by which he was staging an accident scene.

Alan cleared his throat.

The young man looked up. Peter was twenty-six years old, but he dressed and styled himself to look years younger than his true age. Talia had wondered aloud if it was because he wanted others to think he was from a different generation than her and not simply her younger brother, but Alan had a less charitable suspicion. Young adults got more leeway in society. 

“Who are you?” Peter tilted his head to the side.

“Must we do this? Every time we meet you pretend you’ve never seen me before. Yet I know that you know exactly who I am. You’ve followed Talia to my clinic often enough.”

“My sister has not seen fit to introduce us, Dr. Deaton,” the young man smirked. “That must mean that she does not wish for me to know you. As an obedient beta, I should follow my alpha’s commands.”

Alan sighed. Though he was a troublemaker, at least Peter had quick wits and some loyalty, even if the former was often damaged by resentment. 

“Is there a reason you tracked me down in the woods?”

“Your sister asked me to check your work, Peter.” Alan could be sassy as well. “I want to make sure that when the body is found, there is nothing that will endanger our secrets.”

“Be my guest.” Peter stepped back and gestured grandly. “I’m almost done.”

Alan descended the ridge down to the bottom. From her positioning, it looked like Peter was going to make it look like she had slipped and fallen to her death. He supposed it would have to be good enough, though it would be better if she wasn’t found for a few days. 

“What a waste.” The girl was very pretty, though she had obviously been ravaged by the torment of a failed Bite. He had heard the tale from a stressed-out Talia. He set his bag down and pulled out a set of examination gloves.

“My nephew did have exquisite taste.”

Alan looked up at him while closing the bag and frowned.

“There’s no need to be accusatory. I was complimenting her.”

“To joke about the death of an innocent girl takes a certain level of callousness that I find disturbing, Peter.” He examined the site of the initial wound. Luckily, a werewolf’s fangs deformed the mouth enough that a medical examiner who wasn’t in the know would absolutely identify it as an animal attack. “Especially since you are partially responsible for her death.”

“Me?” Peter disagreed verbally, but the death of the girl must have rattled him, because his guilt was transparent. 

Alan didn’t feel like letting him off the hook. “You were the one who approached Ennis Clark on behalf of your nephew. It took me a single phone call to the Clark Pack Emissary to discover this. And if she had not told me, then a few minutes of rational thought would point to you as someone with enough clout to go to that alpha and present your case. I don’t think that even Ennis Clark — such as he is — would take the word of a fifteen-year-old that his mother wouldn’t be upset if Ennis bit his girlfriend. You didn’t really think your hand in this would remain undiscovered, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t. I freely admit I did serve as a go-between for my nephew. I’m sorry I indulged him.”

Bending back over the girl’s corpse, Alan doubted very much that this was the truth. The only way he could get at the true story would be to interrogate Derek, and what good would that do? As he had tried to teach Laura the other night, ethical behavior demanded a balance between the goal and the means. Tormenting Derek would not bring the girl back to life, and Talia already suspected the role her younger brother had played in the tragedy. He needed to finish his examination and move on.

“I don’t understand it,” Peter mused as he lurked nearby. His voice was tinged with what had to be regret. “The Bite should have taken.”

“Hmmm?”

“She was a strong girl. And young. Why did she die?”

“There are theories, but she died because a werewolf bit her, and every alpha knows there is a chance of it happening. You shouldn’t be afraid to mourn the consequences of your mistakes, Peter. Recognizing the price to others of your personal errors is the first step to growth as an individual.”

Peter snorted and Alan turned to look at him. “Is this the type of drivel you feed Talia?”

“I wouldn’t call it drivel. I would call it sound advice.”

“I should mourn the death of a human who means nothing to me? Derek will salve his wounded heart in other loves, and I will help him deal with the consequences of his eyes. My regret is for Derek and only for Derek. This young woman meant nothing to me. The world is so vast and most of the people who live in it are so … _fragile._ It’s foolishness to get so worked up over them.”

Alan stood up, his examination over, and removed his gloves. Morally deficient or not, he could not criticize Peter’s clean-up work. “You have a point, but your point is disappointingly focused on personal, emotional consequences. Perhaps you might consider some more general yet still important possible consequences, such as: what if one of the people who examines her body works for the Argents?”

“I’ve tried my best to cover it up.” Peter tried to shrug it off.

“I know you have; I can tell. There’s a good chance that animals will get to the body before anyone else finds it and reinforce what you’ve done. But there is also a not insignificant chance that a skilled investigator on the Argents’ payroll will examine a death by animal attack and pierce your deception. Given that Ennis Clark is attacking them openly, what do you think their response will be if Derek Hale’s high school girlfriend shows up dead by a _werewolf’s bite?_ ”

Peter, for the first time ever that Alan had seen, look chagrined.

“I don’t think you meant to endanger your family, Peter, or place your nephew at particular risk. But you _did._ My advice for you is to embrace some humility, so you do not do so again.” 

Alan turned and walked away, preparing to leave the woods. 

“Humility? You think we should be scared of hunters?”

“That is not what humility means, Peter.” He kept moving. 

“What we should do is kill that old man before he kills us.”

With a sigh, Alan stopped without turning around. “I might agree with you on that, but your sister has decided on a different course of action. Trust me, I know a threat when I meet one, whether it’s a human or a _werewolf._ ”

He left Peter to his work and headed that direction. Peter had suggested something about which had given Alan a lot of thought, ever since he had explained the problems within the Argent clan to Laura. 

There was an equilibrium between werewolves and werewolf hunters, one that every Emissary was trained to understand and to promote. There had to be a way for rogue werewolves to be stopped, whether they were omegas, renegade betas, or unstable alphas. The governments of the world could not be trusted to handle the existence of the supernatural with fairness or foresight, and druids would lose their ability to be effective advisers if the packs believed they would kill werewolves that stepped out of line. The hunter families seemed the perfect solution, especially ones like the Argents who had been founded by a woman with the best of intentions and who possessed a Code. 

Yet, for all Gerard Argent’s pride in his name, he seemed more than willing to use his family for his own self-aggrandizement. If Ennis’s vengeance and Paige Kraiskeva’s death were smoldering sparks threatening to burst into flame, then Gerard’s ambition was sure to be a can of gasoline. He wasn’t interested in peace.

**~*~**

As amazing as a werewolf’s ability to heal could be, there were limits to it. As an Emissary and as a medical professional, Alan understood those limits, so he had had to explain to more than one werewolf that they were simply not going to get any better.

It was one of the few instances in which the facts of lycanthropy were easier for Bitten wolves to digest. They had once been human, and while a human’s mental state obviously did influence how quickly they healed, the mind and the body were not as intensely tied together as with a werewolf or any shape changer. Humans were used to not healing some injuries quickly or at all. Born lycanthropes, on the other hand, had grown so used to healing from virtually anything that his words could be hard for them to fathom.

Ironically, the stress and anger of that diagnosis would often impede the healing process itself, locking the werewolf in a self-defeating spiral: their lack of healing would fuel their disappointment, and their disappointment would impede their future healing.

This was certainly true in Deucalion’s case. His eyes were not going to heal completely, not only because Gerard Argent had done an incredible amount of damage to them in one of the cruelest and most unnecessary maimings that Alan had ever seen, but also because Deucalion bore the weight of the disastrous meeting solely on his shoulders. The alpha had been warned, by both himself and Talia, that Gerard was not interested in peace, but he had forged ahead anyway, confident in rationality and the idea that common ground existed, they need only to find it.

Deucalion had underestimated Gerard’s nature. 

Alan had nothing but sympathy for the alpha. Of all the failures which a person could bring upon themselves, the consequences of unfounded hope were the least offensive to him. Misplaced optimism could bring cities to ruin and cause the death of countless children, but it was a flaw born out of excessive courage and the desire to see the world a better place. All living things fail; it was inevitable. Why not fail in the pursuit of virtue?

He continued his examination, but he was already certain by this point. The nerves had been obliterated, and they were simply not regenerating. Without them, Deucalion wouldn’t be able to process visual information like any other human could. It was a clue that this was more than just a physical problem, though the physical problems were also very dire. Alan suspected it was unconscious self-punishment for Deucalion’s failure to see what was immediately before his face: ironically, he would no longer be able to see what was immediately before his face. 

Alan would have to call Deucalion’s Emissary with a recommendation for a good in-the-know therapist. But from the tense set of the alpha’s shoulders, Deucalion wouldn’t want to hear about another thing he had done to himself this night.

“I’m sorry.” Alan concluded regretfully. “The eyes will heal physically, but … your sight …”

Deucalion’s roar shook the building, and Alan, while concerned, was not surprised. In his experience, those who truly care about improving the lots of others are not dispassionate about it. They feel the need to change the world in their veins. Treachery and loss are seldom accepted calmly.

“Leave me alone.”

Alan escorted Talia out of the back room and out of the clinic proper. They stopped only to get their outerwear off the coat rack. After such a terrible event, anyone would need a little privacy. He wondered only for a moment why Marco hadn’t followed them.

“Are you sure there’s nothing we can do for him?” Talia asked, pulling her shawl around her.

“The damage coupled with the psychological turmoil? I wish there was. He’s going to need a lot of help and support regardless.”

“That _man,_ ” the alpha snarled. She obviously wasn’t referring to Deucalion but to the hunter who had blinded him. 

“Gerard will have no doubt spun this event to his advantage. His position is even stronger now that the dissenting voices within the Argent clan have been silenced.” He paused, hesitating. If there was any particular time he could successfully bring up the idea of putting a permanent end to Gerard’s threat, this would be it. Yet, that was exactly why he couldn’t do it. It would be taking advantage of Talia’s disgust and anger over what had been done to a friend of hers. The arguments against such an action were still compelling, but they would lack any emotional heft at this moment. 

She sighed. “I need to go home. Contact me if he requires anything we can provide.”

“I will, if he asks me. Deucalion is a proud man, and may not ask. I’ll give his Emissary a call as well.”

Talia grabbed his hand. “Be safe, Alan.”

“Good night.” 

Alan watched her get into her Volvo and drive away. She must have understood the potential threat to her family, caught between the unbridled anger of werewolves like Ennis Clark and the malign strategies of a human monster like Gerard Argent. Yet, still, her first thought was for a man who would now be of little use as an ally until he came to grips with his new situation.

He had been very lucky to be chosen as Emissary for such a woman. He turned and went back inside the clinic.

Not three steps into the waiting room, Alan realized something was wrong. He may not have been a werewolf, but he knew what fresh blood smelled like. Squaring his shoulders, he went back into the examination room.

Deucalion stood there, hands soaked up to the elbows in blood and gore, yet he possessed the air of someone who had just enjoyed a satisfactory evening of intellectual stimulation at the opera. Marco, on the other hand, was splayed out on Alan’s examination table, a wrecked corpse savaged by indescribable violence.

“Quite sorry about the mess,” Deucalion apologized and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket. 

Alan took a big gulp of air. And then another. And then another. Only then did he decide he could force words out of his throat. “What happened?”

“Marco expressed his displeasure at my recent decision making. I took his complaints under advisement.” The alpha uselessly wiped at his hands. “Could I bother you for directions to your sink?”

“At your ten o’clock. Three to four paces.” Alan retrenched from his shock though not completely. “You killed him.”

“I did!”

“You seem merry about it, and you’ll forgive me for being concerned.”

“While his attempt to take my position as alpha from me turned out to be a bad gamble on his part, it did reassure me that I am not as vulnerable as I had previously feared.” Deucalion felt for the faucet and turned the water on. He let it run so it could warm up a bit. “I must admit that for a moment there, despair had come close to consuming me.”

Alan stepped gingerly around the slaughter. “Surviving violence can inspire confidence, but I doubt its effect will be long lasting.”

“I am not merely confident, doctor,” Deucalion replied as he washed his beta’s blood off his hand. “I am _enlightened!_ ”

Alan absolutely did not like the sound of that. The alpha did not seem hostile, but his lack of reaction to the butchery he had performed minutes before did not strike Alan as a good sign.

“You know that I have been agitating for a diplomatic solution of the recent turmoil between the Argents and the packs.”

“Yes. While I had my misgivings, I support that approach.”

“Do you?” The barest hint of menace appeared in Deucalion’s accent. “You did not seem like you were when we talked before.”

“You know my objection was not because about your methods, but about whom you chose to approach.”

“Yes. Right. Gerard Argent. I owe him a great deal. One day I hope I get the chance to repay him. But he did open my eyes to the truth.” Deucalion chuckled. “Ha. Inadvertent humor is the best, don’t you think?”

Alan said nothing. 

“He understands that sometimes reform may not only be desired, but it may be necessary. That is not reform, but revolution. He obviously seeks to break the cycle of tit-for-tat violence our sides have pursued for generations.” 

“And replace it with genocide, which is not ideal.”

“It depends on who wins, doesn’t it?” Deucalion shook his head ruefully. “But his goal interests me less than his methods. He is subverting the Argent traditions — the matriarchy and the Code — and replacing them with a new form of hunting. He has inspired me to do the same.”

Alan felt a nameless dread swell in his stomach. “What do you mean by that?”

“You’ll see in time. I expect you will oppose me.”

“That would depend on your goal.”

“I think not. The Emissaries seek to preserve the Balance, do they not? Nature and civilization. Law and chaos.” Deucalion turned to him and his eyes glowed an intimidating red, cold rage on his face. “Werewolf and werewolf hunters.”

Alan took a step back. 

“You and yours have been protecting the status quo for centuries. I will end it, so I think that eventually we will become enemies.” 

“We don’t have to be.” 

“Then stay out of my way, Alan.” Deucalion’s eyes faded back to their new damaged state. “Though I do wonder what it will take to force you to finally _act._ What will make you leave your principled — and safe — position of being an adviser? What will you have to lose?”

The alpha dried his hands and then worked his way out of the room, feeling his way along the wall. He headed toward the back door. 

“You don’t mind cleaning this mess up, won’t you? Especially since, for now, that’s all you’re good for.”


	2. November 2005

The steady tick of the grandfather’s clock dominated his living room, which was otherwise as quiet as Alan could make it. This was by design, as its rhythm would help them empty their minds of all other thought. To him, it felt like the pulse of a second heart, a steady pulse of years and lives. 

“I’m not really good at this,” Laura complained, unfolding from the lotus position and stretching her leg.

“Perhaps,” Alan replied acerbically, “you might be better prepared to make that evaluation once you have tried to meditate for longer than five minutes.”

Laura frowned, trying to figure out just how sarcastic he was being.

Alan took his pleasure when he could, but, in this case, he really did want her to improve. “Meditation is a skill, Laura. It takes practice and dedication to master it.”

She took a deep breath and shifted her position on his living room floor. “Is this how my mother learned?”

“I don’t know. I have never asked her.”

Laura mugged at him in fake disbelief. “I thought you two told each other everything!”

“I guess we will try again later, since it seems you would rather talk now.” He rose to his feet and extended his hand, thoughtlessly, to help her up. She didn’t need it; she sprung to her feet on her own. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Tea? No offense, but if I drink another cup of tea in this house I might simply die."

“I have tea,” Alan said in a dead pan voice, “but I imagined, when you’re finished exaggerating, you might wish to have some A&W cream soda.”

“You’re a magician!” Laura sprinted to the refrigerator. She cried with delight to find the contraband. 

“I am, in fact, not a magician. I bought a case knowing how much you liked it and knowing that your mother never let you drink it at home.”

“Laura, it’s bad for your teeth. Laura, you might have a higher metabolism than a human, but that doesn’t mean you should drink sugared garbage.” Her mimicry of her mother was pretty bad, but her point was well made. She took a long sip and relished every moment.

“Wait a moment.” Laura glared at him suspiciously. “Is there a lesson in this?”

“No. It’s a cream soda.”

Alan joined her in the kitchen and put the kettle on. He, at least, still enjoyed a good cup of tea.

“I wasn’t sure. You have this tendency to sneak lessons into normal stuff, especially when I’m not ready for it.”

“Do I?” He pretended to be offended, but neither of them believed it, for he totally used that approach often. He found that advice tended to be absorbed better if it was connected to something concrete. “I suppose I could work a lesson in there somehow, if you wanted.”

“Would you? Please?” 

They smiled at each other. 

“In all honesty, it should remind you that you’re an adult now, Laura. You can decide for yourself what you should drink and when you should drink it.”

“Well, tell Mom that.”

“Actually, I have, several times. I find that alphas possess an instinct to protect their betas, to a greater or lesser extent. So do parents with their children. When someone is both an alpha and a parent, it can be quite … smothering for the children.”

Laura rolled her eyes in agreement.

“I’ve suggested, repeatedly, that Talia ease off a little when it comes to you, Derek, and Cora. I haven’t had much success, but, then again, I didn’t think I would. You, on the other hand, might have more.”

The young woman laughed in his face.

“I’ll admit, it would be a challenge. She has a strong will and a stronger love for her family, but it is important that you try at some point. It’s a key milestone to your development.”

“It … is?”

“One of the toughest things we must do as human beings is set boundaries with the people we love and enforce those boundaries. It is seldom a pleasant task, and so it is reasonable for people to avoid doing it. But if the task is left undone for too long, it may poison those relationships that people cherish most.”

“So, telling Mom that I’m a big girl and if I want to drink cream soda, I will drink the cream soda, sets proper boundaries. If she gets mad, I’m blaming you.”

Alan nodded and turned back to his tea. He felt Laura’s eyes upon him as they waited for the kettle. He guessed she had some questions, but he decided not to encourage. She would ask him when she was read. Being a good mentor required you to know when to be patient.

“So have you set boundaries?”

“Hmm?”

Laura affected nonchalance, leaning up against the refrigerator. “Have you set boundaries? With my mother. Since you love her.”

The tea kettle burst into song. Alan ignored it, studying Laura to see if she was being serious. When he realized that she was, he pursed his lips and turned back to the stove.

“You do love her, don’t you?”

Instead of answering, he finished pouring his tea and added his usual amount of honey. He took a sip and then nodded at both the quality of the tea and Laura’s question.

“I do, but not in the way you might think.”

She stared at him, obviously inviting him to expand on that.

“As a human being, as a man, I’m not particularly interested in sexual activity. I’m not disgusted by it — in fact, I have participated in the act — but it is not something I seek out. Nor do I feel any particular need to court or be courted. It’s not a matter of disapproval. It’s simply not a priority for me.”

“But my mom …”

“Your mother is someone who, for me, embodies the beauty, wisdom, and grace I value in this world. I consider myself very lucky to be here, working with her and your family. I’m also very happy that my relationship with her goes beyond Alpha and Emissary. We’re friends. Good friends. So, yes, I do love your mother.” 

Laura smiled at him. “I’m gonna cry.”

Wryly, Alan drank his tea with deliberate slowness, the only comment he would deign to make on Laura’s sarcasm.

“She’s pretty happy with your relationship as well,” Laura remarked off-handedly, returning to the living room. “So if you don’t know how my mother attained the full shift, why do you think meditation will help me do the same?”

“When you asked me for help, I did some research and I contacted some of the more knowledgeable druids. I have a theoretical appreciation of what is required.”

Laura sat down back into the lotus position and set her soda on the coffee table. 

“Your mother has taught you that the shape you take reflects the person that you are. This is a fundamental concept for all shapeshifters. In order to achieve the full shift you must be able to change the way you think about yourself and the world around you.” 

“So I have to think like a wolf.”

Alan shook his head. “In fact, it is quite the opposite.”

Laura cocked her head to the side.

“A shifter who completely obliterates their conception of themselves as human could perhaps take animal form, but they would lose control of the shift, just as some Bitten wolves who exist in denial of their newly gained natures lose control of the shift during periods of stress. It is more likely, though, that a werewolf who denies the human aspects of his existence would become … monstrous.”

“So if you’re not trying to get in touch with the animal, what’s the goal?”

“Have you ever become so angry or so scared, Laura, that you shifted as a reaction?”

“Yeah, sure. Everyone does.”

“Why?”

Laura blinked. “Because … because you’re stronger that way.”

“Are you?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s say you’re terrified because your closest human friend has been in a car wreck, and if they don’t get medical attention soon, they will die. Does shifting to the wolf in that situation make you one bit more effective in that situation?”

“No. Not really.” She thought about it. “So it’s a matter of control?”

Alan shook his head. “No. Think about it as if it is a matter of not needing control. Your mother, like others who have achieved what she has, has embraced every part of herself. She doesn’t see the wolf side of her nature as stronger and thus, more desirable, but neither does she consider the wolf side something to be feared.” 

“Others? I thought … honestly, I thought it was a genetic thing. Part of the Hale bloodline.”

“No.” Deaton chuckled. “Any werewolf has the potential to achieve the full shift, but being a Hale does have its advantages.”

Laura thought about it. “Beacon Hills.”

“Exactly. Your family helped found the city. Your family is intricately connected to the life of this community. The Hales possess influence and prestige. They’re involved, and that involvement gives them power.”

“It’s easier for us to see our human side as valuable.” 

“To embrace their entire nature on an unconscious level allows a werewolf not the ability to _deny_ their instincts but the potential to _enhance_ them. This is why werewolves like your mother command so much respect among your kind. The full shift indicates a level of insight that is quite frankly hard for most to even imagine.”

Laura frowned, mostly at herself.

“I believe you can reach this evolution of yourself as well, Laura.”

“Me? I—” She hesitated. 

“You are your mother’s daughter. I see within you the same strength and compassion that I see in her. I told you it is an honor to serve as her Emissary. I consider it as much an honor to help you attain this goal.”

She blushed in front of him and then she changed the topic to avoid too much emotion. “Does it have to be meditation?”

“I am afraid it will require a lot of work, and meditation, as far as I can see, is a necessary first step. To trust all parts of your nature, you must come to know them.”

Laura clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “Let’s get this puppy rolling.”

Alan pursed his lips in mild and not-so-serious disapproval. He couldn’t doubt her enthusiasm. This time, they made it eight minutes before Laura’s phone rang. She mimed her apologies as she answered the phone. The conversation didn’t sound like it was with a member of her family, so he didn’t try to follow it.

He took this opportunity to wind the clock.

“Doc.” Laura’s voice shook as she got his attention. “There’s been a fire.”

**~*~**

He sat in his car for far too long. The sun was beginning to brush the tops of the trees of the Preserve, so he had to be late by now. He had told the police that he would be there at five.

Alan took a deep breath. “Get out of the car.” 

No one answered him because there was no one else there. He looked at the rear view mirror. He hadn’t slept the night before, and he had pretty much sleepwalked through work. Though he managed to keep busy, doing anything to avoid facing the truth. Such fear was embarrassing for a druid, a student of nature, when death was as much a part of nature as life. What was more embarrassing at the present time was his inability to go and meet the police as he had promised.

“Get out of the damn car.”

Finally, _finally,_ he put his hand on the handle and opened the door, only to trigger a warning sound, because he left the key in the ignition. Sighing he reached for it looked at the offending item and noticed — because of course he had to notice — that on it dangled the stupid little token which Talia had brought to him from the family’s last trip to Argentina. It was a polished rhodochrosite, the national mineral of the country, also called _rosa del inca._

She had whispered to him as she put it in his hand, “I wished you could have come, Alan, but instead I brought a piece of the land back with us, just for you.”

He closed his eyes and yanked the keys out. He managed to get out without tripping, his feet able to find their footing on the familiar pavement of the driveway. He slammed the door so hard he though he heard glass crack. 

When he opened his eyes, he stood before the burned-out wreck of the Hale House. Part of him denied that this could possibly be real, but he knew it was. Policemen moved through the wreckage, trying to piece together the _whys_ and the _hows._

Alan didn’t care. The only thing he cared about at this moment was the possibility that there were others who had survived beyond Laura and Derek. Derek had been at the high school for basketball practice and then for a study group, so he had escaped the fire. 

He had been lucky.

Someone at the front door was trying to get his attention. Sheriff Noah Stilinski called his name and waved at him. Taking another deep breath, Alan walked the path to the front stoop like he had done dozens of times before.

Five feet from what used to be the front porch, he stopped dead in his tracks. He stared, for it had to be a mistake. It made him want to throw up. Only the discipline taught to him by his teachers kept him from doing so. Surrounding the base of the house was a line of mountain ash. The fire couldn’t have been an accident. It was arson. It was murder.

Given that revelation, how could he possibly keep his footing through this interview? 

“Dr. Deaton, right?” Sheriff Stilinski offered him a wild smile. “Thank you for coming by. I’m going to have to apologize. I called you because the people down at the station said you usually take care of our K-9 units. I didn’t realize that you were a friend of the Hale’s.”

“Yes, I am. I mean, I was.” Alan tried to pull himself together. He couldn’t afford to lose his composure now. “I know, I mean, I knew the family well. But if you didn’t call me here to talk about my connection to the family, why did you?”

“Well.” The sheriff hesitated, drawing out the last consonant of that word. “Did you know if the Hales kept animals in their basement?”

Alan blinked, uncomprehendingly. He squinted until his mind filled in what the man had to be asking. “Oh. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been in the basement, Sheriff.”

“Never-the-less, would you mind taking a look for me?”

“Do you think it’s important?”

Noah Stilinski scratched at the back of his neck. “In a case like this, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Eight people are dead, and I have to take that seriously.”

Alan’s hand shot out and grabbed Noah by the arm. “Eight?”

The sheriff turned to him. “That’s … that’s the number, or so the medical examiner thinks.”

“There were two survivors?” 

“No.” Stilinski looked nervous and regretful, as if he had given Alan false hope. “Only one, and we don’t know if he’ll survive.”

Alan nodded. “Do we know who it was?”

He knew she hadn’t survived. Talia must have survived long enough to transfer the alpha power to Laura. After all, the telltale red glow had made the new alpha’s tears shine like rubies. To hold on hope when the logical conclusion was inescapable was foolishness. He had been taught better.

“We identified him as Peter Hale.”

Alan nodded tersely. He may not like Peter, but it didn’t surprise him that the man was clever enough to find some way to survive. “Where is he?”

“Beacon Hills Memorial. The two children who weren’t here at the time of the fire are with him. Did you know them?” 

“I do.” He shook his head. “Peter and I don’t actually get along that well. How bad is it?”

“He’s in a coma. Considering how badly he was burned, it’s probably a blessing.”

Maybe. Maybe not. Alan had read accounts of werewolves suffering from locked-in syndrome after serious injuries. He didn’t know much about it. Not all Emissaries were medical professionals like he was, and even he hadn’t read much on massive trauma.

He shuddered. “If you don’t mind, maybe I should—”

“I hate to do this to you, doctor, but I would really like your opinion on what we found. Would you come look at with me?”

Alan wanted to refuse. He didn’t want to walk through the remains of this house. Yet, there was a possibility that the sheriff’s find could be something Alan needed to know. “Very well.”

Stilinski led him through the house, through the foyer, past the great staircase which led upstairs. The family had probably been in their rooms getting ready for bed when the fire began. No, the arson began. As he walked past it, he reached out and touched the banister, the way he had sometimes did, and let his fingers glide across it. 

The kitchen cabinet doors had warped under the intense heat before the fire had charred them. A few hung at crazy angles off melted hinges. He had seldom been in the house, but he still could see in his mind’s eye how it used to be.

Something that had once looked alive sat on the kitchen counter, small and huddled. Alan stepped toward it, unconsciously, inexorably. It wasn’t a child, and he offered thanks to whomever would hear it that it wasn’t.

“That’s a—”

“It’s a turkey.” Alan finished. “Talia always took special care to make the holidays memorable occasions. She was a big believer in family get-togethers.”

“Look, Doc, if this is going to be too—”

“No, Sheriff, I won’t pretend it’s not difficult for me, but I will try to answer your questions. It’s the least I can do for them.”

In the back of the kitchen, beneath the main staircase, stairs used to into the basement. Now, the blackened wood was surrounded by a gaping hole, and a ladder had been set up to one side.

“Stairs aren’t safe.”

Deaton hadn’t been lying when he said he hadn’t been in the basement before. He had only spent time in the house when the children were at school. Frederick had been polite and cordial, for her husband had respected Talia’s desire for distance between them and her Emissary. 

“I would imagine not.”

The sheriff began to climb down first, flashlight in his teeth. Alan waited until Stilinski had both feet on the ground. He stared at the ladder, unconsciously checking to see if it was sturdy before he began to descend.

“They were removed,” the sheriff informed him when he was half-way down the ladder.

“What?” 

“I … I realized that you may not have known that the bodies were removed. You won’t need to see any of them.” Stilinski watched him as he slowly descended the last steps. “I’ve been doing this for so long that sometimes I forget that not everyone knows police procedure.”

The basement was very dark with only Stilinski’s light revealing its dimensions.

“I don’t think you forgot.”

The sheriff turned the light into Alan’s face.

“Would you mind turning on the work lights which I am sure you have down here?”

“No problem.” The sheriff found the master switch and turned the work lamps on. “I don’t think I quite follow your implication.”

Alan put his hands on his hips. “I don’t think you’ve been totally honest with me tonight, Sheriff Stilinski. While you pretended to be surprised to find that I was a friend of Talia’s, I think you have already spoken with Laura and so you know that she was at my home when the fire started. I also think you brought me here under false pretenses.”

“Now, that’s not true.” He gestured. “What I want to show you is over here.”

The basement turned out to be larger than Alan imagined it would be. He knew it led to a system of tunnels under the Preserve which served as an escape route for the family. That was what must have happened. When they realized that the fire was moving fast, someone must have assumed that they were under attack, and as Talia had drilled into them, they went to the basement.

The sheriff had stopped at a doorway out of the basement and into the escape tunnel. The door itself had been broken and fallen away, burned by the fire. 

“This is what I wanted to show you.” Stilinski shone a light on the doorposts and then on the door itself. “What kind of animal do you think they had down here that could have made marks like that.”

Deaton knelt down, but he didn’t really need to do so. He already knew what type of gouges werewolf claws would make on wood. 

“I’m afraid I’m not able to tell you what animal did this, sheriff, but that’s not why you brought me down here.”

“It isn’t?”

“If you wanted my opinion on the claw marks, you could have brought me a photograph. You wanted to study my reactions to see if I knew more about the fire that I was saying.” He stood and turned to look the sheriff in the eye. “You don’t think it was an accident.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not an arson investigator, but when there’s a fire, people don’t usually run to the basement.” Stilinski took on a serious tone. “Two bodies were found here, Mr. And Mrs. Hale. They had been trying to get out through that door into the tunnels beyond, but they weren’t able to. Why couldn’t they? Why did they make no attempt to get out by the kitchen door?”

Alan crossed his arms. He could imagine the scenario. After realizing they were trapped by mountain ash above, Talia probably battered the escape door down so they could get out that way. He guessed that if he lifted the fallen door up, there would be a line of mountain ash on the other side. Frederick, completely human, hadn’t been able to reach the line to break it before he was overcome by the fire. 

The thoughts made Alan go cold. It helped in protecting the family’s secrets from the law enforcement officer before him.

“I couldn’t get anything from the younger Hales, but they’re in shock. You wouldn’t be. Do you know any reason that someone would want to burn the Hale family alive?”

Reason? What possible reason could there be? An entire family, burned alive, and it had to be because they were werewolves. While Alan had his suspicions about what type of people could have been responsible, this wasn’t something that could be handled by the law.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you who would want to kill my friend and her family, Sheriff. I’m sorry.”

Alan wasn’t lying about that.

**~*~**

Laura sat quietly in a chair next to Peter’s bed. It must have been uncomfortable; hospital furniture was rarely easy on the body in Alan’s opinion. Perhaps that was an illusion. The only times you used those chairs was when someone you cared about was hurt.

He stood in the entranceway, taking in the room. It was antiseptic and without personality. If Peter had been aware of it, he would have despised it. Peter loathed dullness and boredom almost as much as he loathed uselessness.

“I keep waiting for him to wake up,” Laura said without looking at Alan. 

“It’s … unlikely.”

“I know. I suppose I keep hoping that he’ll beat the odds.” 

Alan walked over to stand next to the bed and looked down on the burned werewolf. “Hope … hope is a good thing.” It was lame to say it, and he knew it was lame.

“Will he?”

“I’m not a doctor …”

Laura snapped at him. “Cut the crap, Alan. You know which role of yours I’m asking.” 

He looked up at her, calmly. She’d been through a lot, and the heightened senses and emotions and everything due to becoming alpha would be far from something she’d be used to by now. He could take a little impatience from her.

“I need advice. You’re an adviser.”

“I was your mother’s adviser. I have aided you, but I …”

“You won’t help me?” She stood up in a motion much too smooth for a person who probably hadn’t been sleeping well the last few weeks. 

“I didn’t say that.” Alan raised a hand. “I’m simply trying to explain.”

“You’re protecting yourself!” she snapped again.

Alan took a breath.

“I would like to remind you, Laura, that I may not have lost as much as you, but I did lose someone very important to me as well.”

Laura hesitated, biting her lip, and then flopped back down in the chair. “I know, but I need help, Alan.”

He stood in silence and watched her watch her uncle.

“The truth is, I have no idea how Peter survived the fire. I have no idea how he survived those burns. I don’t know when or if he will heal. I don’t know, should he survive, when he’ll come out of the coma. It could be tomorrow, or next year, or never. Since I’ve read thin reports of werewolves in a comatose state being victims of locked -in syndrome, I don’t know if he is aware of everything we say and do and is unable to respond.”

“Oh, God.”

“I can’t answer you with anything remotely approaching certainty.” Alan tried to make her understand. “That type of advice is not something on which you should base decisions.”

“Is there any treatment you could try?”

“Yes. With your permission, I intend to try it on the next full moon.”

She looked up, hope filling her eyes.

“There.” For the first time, Alan let his own passion seep through. “That right there was what I was trying to avoid. What I intend to attempt is a long shot in every sense of the word. It will most likely do nothing; it may even hurt him. Yet now the thought is in your head that there is a good chance that he’ll get better, when all I have is a theory.”

“I understand, Alan. But I’ll take any hope I can get right now, even a slight hope.” She turned to look at Peter. “Tell me about it.”

“I’m going to try the Nine Herbs, an ancient remedy, on Peter during the full moon, when he’ll be at his strongest. But the Nine Herbs are for otherworldly poisons and similar contaminants. These burns were caused by mundane fire.”

“And what are the risks?”

“I am quite competent when it comes to ancient Druidic rituals, but if I make a single mistake in the creation of the drug, it will kill him. In addition, you know as well as I do that Peter was fond of the more esoteric aspects of the supernatural.”

She smiled at a memory. “He always teased me about it. Why be a creature of the night if you didn’t get to meddle with the cool stuff?”

“That may be how he survived the fire; I don’t really know. If there is a supernatural substance in his body, one that might have saved him, there is a chance that the Nine Herbs would purge it, which could possibly kill him. This is the danger of making decisions based on supposition and wishful thinking. Sometimes, you can do more harm than good.”

“If these herbs could be so dangerous, why the hurry?”

“The fire was two weeks ago, and the full moon isn’t for another week. That’s hardly hurrying.”

Laura looked at him. “But you could wait for months. He’s in stable condition. Why?”

Alan turned and almost walked out of the room. He knew what was coming the moment he explained his thinking. He should have kept quiet. He should have stayed away. 

“Your family was murdered, Laura. There was mountain ash surrounding the house, including in the escape tunnels.”

“I know, Alan.”

He couldn’t tell what surprised him more: that she had figured it out on her own or the utter lack of shock or anger that followed it. It surprised him. He had thought a new alpha, armed with such explosive information, might be tempted to react violently. 

“She didn’t howl.” Laura explained. “She was aware enough to transfer the alpha power to me when she knew she couldn’t get out, but she didn’t howl. She didn’t signal Derek or me that the pack was in trouble. I would have heard it, even in your home, wouldn’t I? Derek would have heard it at the high school?” 

“Yes.” Alan hadn’t thought of that. “You would have.”

“That meant she understood it was an attack, and that she either didn’t know how many enemies there were and so didn’t want to lead Derek and I into a trap, or she knew that we could not help. She had faith in me. I believe that.”

“She had every faith in you.” He wasn’t lying, and he wasn’t exaggerating. He walked over to her and put her hand on her shoulder. She wasn’t shaking; Laura was calm. Maybe he had made a mistake in trying to keep his distance, in trying to keep his own grief and his own nagging suspicions to himself. “She had no fear for her pack after she was gone.”

“So she made the call that bringing Derek and I to the house wasn’t going to change the outcome of whatever was happening.” Laura set her jaw. “I can only trust her. But you should trust me when I tell you that someone is going to pay for this.”

Alan would not disagree at this point. If she had been furious and out of control, he might have talked her down, but this was not uncontrollable fury. This was determination.

“But it’s not going to happen today. And not this week. I don’t even think it will happen this year. We’ve got to leave.”

He took in a breath. 

“The safety of the pack, the safety of my family, comes first. That’s what Mom chose, and that’s what I’m going to choose. All this was planned, and it was well planned. They knew how to seal them in, they knew about the escape tunnels, and they knew when we’d be most vulnerable. It’s sheer luck that neither Derek nor I were there.”

“I think that is safe to say.”

“So we have an enemy that knows us and we don’t know them. I have an uncle in a coma and a seventeen-year old high school senior who can barely force himself to eat let alone go to class.” Laura shook her head, even more determination piling on. “We can’t stay here.”

“There is your father’s family in Argentina.”

“I’ve already called them. I don’t think we’ll end up settling there. It’s too far away, but a visit is a good first step. But there’s a problem.” She turned away from Alan’s face and looked at Peter. “How do I move him?”

“You don’t.” 

“But, he’ll be vulnerable …”

“He’s been vulnerable. I know you haven’t been at his bedside twenty four hours a day, seven days a week for the last two weeks, have you?”

“No. They only let me in during visiting hours.”

“Whoever had the means to set this up could undoubtedly get to him if they really wanted to. Maybe they think they’ve rendered him harmless.”

Laura snorted. “That would be a mistake.”

“Yes, it would. But while the two of you could travel while covering your tracks, you could not do so while bringing Peter along with you.”

She thought about it. “So I should leave him here. Alone?”

“No, Laura, he wouldn’t be alone. I will keep an eye on him, and I’m sure you’ll visit me and him from time to time as well.”

Laura stood up and hugged him. “If you think it’s wise.”

“I do.” 

“We’ll wait until the full moon, and see if your idea works. If not, Derek and I will leave.”


	3. January and Early February, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses dialogue from _Heart Monitor_ and _Co-Captain_.
> 
> Trigger Warning: An animal dies in this chapter, but it is not graphic.

The day after he learned that Laura Hale had died, Alan Deaton had trouble getting out of bed.

He had never before hat this problem. He had always been an early riser, his circadian rhythms closely tied to the rising of the sun. In fact, he found it nearly impossible to sleep in; when he tried, he felt strangely uncomfortable. And yet, on the day after he had been informed that it was her body which had been found in the Preserve, covered with animal bites, and cut in half, he simply did not rise when the beams crept under his curtains. 

An hour passed, and then another. His phone on the bedtable chirped warning alarms for that day’s upcoming appointments. Still, he lay there.

Alan didn’t feel traumatized, nor did he think he was being lazy. Beneath the covers, he remembered his history with Laura, their talks, the training program they had followed together, and her frequent visits to Beacon Hills over the last six years. She had always taken time out after visiting her unresponsive uncle and trying to track down the people responsible for the death of her family to visit him. She had looked forward to seeing him, and he seeing her. He always kept a six-pack of A&W in the refrigerator for when she showed up.

On one particular visit, she had showed him that she had attained the full shift. He had been speechless and emotional, and his enthusiasm had embarrassed her more than her nudity had. 

So what weighed him down this particular morning had to be despair. 

Sheriff Stilinski had stopped by the house, personally, to tell him the news. Ever since he had met with the Sheriff at the Hale House six years ago, the man behind the badge had become his friend. They had coffee once in a while at a downtown cafe and talked about developments in local politics and sports. Alan was grateful that Noah had chosen not to inform him of this tragedy with something as impersonal as a phone call.

Last night, he thought he had managed to take the news with grace. The truth was that life was as full of loss as it was full of joy, and he had been taught how to focus his emotional responses to both in positive ways. Breaking down in front of Noah Stilinski in his own living room would have done nothing for anyone. Yet, after the sheriff had left his house, Alan had sat on his couch and stared at the wall. He hadn’t made the phone calls he should have made. He hadn’t tried to figure out who might have killed Laura, as some small part of him wanted to do. He had been paralyzed by the effort of not letting his unspoken grief disrupt his internal balance.

In the shadows of his empty hours, hours had passed as they were passing this morning, and still he had sat until he had felt his eyes begin to drift close. He had finally gotten up and moved, robotically, until he stood before the grandfather’s clock. Picking up the key he had reached forward to open the case, when his hand froze.

Wild thoughts made his hand tremble. Screw winding the clock. Let time end. The march of the hands meant nothing anyway, for what he had loved was gone. The woman and her eldest child were gone.

Yet he wound the clock anyway.

Even in the morning light, the damned ticking from it dragged him out of bed. Each repetitive strike reminded him that he had to move forward, even though the appointments he had today weren’t significant in the greater scheme of the universe. The only thing close to a matter of life and death was the possibility that Mrs. Hagerdorn’s poodle had osteosarcoma. 

Yet each animal was important to someone, and Alan had promised that he would care for those lives, no matter how small. When he forced himself to think about the pets and their owners, he found he could push the past somewhere he could deal with it later.

So he got out of bed and went to work.

Like many people, Alan found that purposeful toil made him feel better. Taking care of the animals, talking with their owners, writing prescriptions, checking tissue samples, none of it could undo the terrible event that happened in the forest. A smile from a young girl whose cat was all better now could not diminish the terrible fact that he would never talk to Laura again. The gratitude of an old lady when he declared her Maltese in perfect health couldn’t even come close to dispelling the gnawing fear that he had failed Talia’s friendship in the most fundamental way possible. His accomplishments in the clinic were small things, and the terrible things that had happened in the woods dwarfed them. But over time, the small things would accumulate, like snow on dead leaves, and his world would balance.

His assistant came in, five minutes early, yet Alan barely noticed. 

“Hey, Doc.” Scott piped up. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine. Did you need something?”

“Uhm.” Scott smiled. “You usually tell me if there’s anything special I need to do when I come in.”

“I do, indeed.” For the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything but the next appointment. “Nothing special tonight, I think.”

“Okay.” The boy’s face crinkled up. “I guess I’ll clean the cages then.”

Alan raised his eyebrows. “You usually don’t show much hesitation when it comes to that admittedly pretty nasty job, which is one of the reasons you’re a good employee.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to enjoy cleaning up their messes, Scott. It’s not a problem.”

“I’m just … I guess I’m just feeling a little queasy today. I’ll get right on it.”

Scott disappeared into the back room, and Alan turned to wait for his last appointment of the day.

His assistant had been a lucky find. Scott had come in one day with a kitten that he had found in the gutter. Whether the stray animal had been abandoned by its mother or it had been discarded as an unwanted pet by some particularly callous individual, it was in bad shape. It had been malnourished, infested with fleas and parasites, and shown signs of being underdeveloped. Scott had offered to pay for its care, but the boy had also admitted that he probably couldn’t even make Deaton’s basic fee with the money he had available. Instead, he had offered to work after school in order to pay the kitten’s bill.

It was motivated by sentiment, to be sure. Yet the offer was sincere, and it was coupled with acknowledgment of practical realities. The clinic couldn’t afford to give full treatment to every stray animal that was brought in, and Scott understood that. Yet, it didn’t stop him from trying to save the kitten.

Alan had brought the kitten back into the examination room and invited Scott to come with him. He had examined the kitten thoroughly and had verbally walked Scott through each step of the process. As Alan had suspected, he had little hope for the kitten, yet he did not spare one morbid detail during his explanation. He helped as he could and then placed the kitten in an incubator. Scott watched over it until she had fallen asleep, had thanked him profusely, and then pedaled furiously home. He was very late for dinner.

The kitten died sometime during the night.

Alan hadn’t been surprised. With that much going against it, its survival had always been a long shot. But at least someone had cared for it during its last hours on earth. 

When Scott came in that afternoon after school, as he had promised, Alan had explained to him what happened. He talked about how the kitten had already been dying when Scott found it in the alley, and there had been very little anyone could do.

“It’s not fair.” The boy clenched his fists.

Alan had waited, but the boy didn’t make another complaint or burst into tears. He only stood there for a few minutes. Then, right before Alan was about to gently suggest that he go home, Scott wiped his eyes and asked him where he had to start working.

And that’s how Alan hired his first assistant.

After waiting a half hour for the next patient, Alan checked on the boy cleaning the dog cages. Scott was dutifully toiling away, his face almost permanently scrunched up at the smell. Maybe he wasn’t feeling his best; Scott had gotten quite used to the odors over the last six months. Working at an animal clinic required that everyone eventually would.

Alan felt relieved as he watched the boy, and maybe he even let himself have a small smile. Laura was dead, and he couldn’t fix that, but life went on. He knocked on the door and Scott turned to see what he wanted.

“It looks like my last appointment is a no show. I have a personal errand to run. Will you be okay locking up?”

“Of course, Doc.”

It hadn’t taken long Alan to trust Scott with a key. “Will you need a ride home? It looks like it might rain tonight.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. If it’s still raining when I’m done, I’ll call Stiles. He can give me a ride home.” Scott paused. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” Alan meant that he would be fine, in time. “See you tomorrow.”

Alan pulled on his jacket. He would pay a visit to Peter in the long-term care wing. He still, after all these years, had no idea whether Peter was aware when people visited or could hear what they talked about. Truly, he doubted that Peter would ever wake up. Yet, someone still needed to check on him, if only for compassion’s sake, and since Laura would no longer be visiting him, Alan decided it would be his duty.

He also had to figure out what to do next about alerting Laura’s relatives. Derek was out there somewhere, and her father’s people were down in Argentina. He would call the number that Laura had given for their home in New York tomorrow. He would try to dig into his old records to see if Talia had told him how to contact their relatives in the Rio Negro province. 

Most likely, the police would have already contacted Derek. 

It wouldn’t be that long of a drive to the hospital, but Alan was sure it would feel like hours. It started to rain before he even reached the end of the block.

**~*~**

Some of the questions Alan had didn’t get answered until days later, and in a way that he would have preferred to avoid in the future.

He was in the examination room, finishing up paperwork long past closing time. Scott was late for his shift. He had seldom been late in the months he had been working for Alan, but in the week since Laura’s death, the boy had been a no-show once and late four other times.

The work was still getting done. The animals were fed, and the place was cleaned. It might have been a little inconvenient for Scott not to be there when he was supposed to be, but Alan’s concern was more focused on whether there was something wrong with Scott.

The bell over the front door rang. It had to be Scott. He had already turned the sign on the door to ‘Closed.’

“Scott, you’re late again. I hope this isn’t getting to be a habit.” 

There was no immediate answer, but when Alan turned to greet him properly, he did a double take. The person before him was Derek Hale.

It had to be Derek, because he had quite simply become the gender-reversed image of Talia. Alan’s couldn’t overcome his shock. It had been six years, and it was only logical that Talia’s middle child had grown, but the boy was long gone. It wasn’t just the height to which he had grown or the muscles he had put on. The soft, earnest, well-meaning if overly emotional lad who had sometimes accompanied his mother to the clinic had transformed into someone who looked at Alan like he was a potential enemy. His posture, the set of his jaw, and the ways his eyes focused on him all radiated aggression. Derek had walked past the closed sign, through the waiting room where he could have called out or run the visitors bell, and right into the private areas of the clinic. 

Alan felt it best to be cautious. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I want to know about the animal you found. The one with the spiral on its side?”

He sounded like Talia as well. It was uncanny. And unsettling. Alan didn’t immediately remember any animal, and he said as much.

“Three months ago. A deer.” Derek unfolded a piece of paper. “See that mark. You remember it?”

That stirred Alan’s memory. He had been brought in by Stilinski to look at the mutilated animal. He had recognized the werewolf symbol for vendetta, so he had assumed it was some omega stamping around the Preserve. He couldn’t have very well told the police that, and when nothing came of it afterward, he promptly forgot about it.

He had probably wanted to forget about it. That might have been a mistake.

“Ah, yes. It was just a deer. And I didn’t find it. They called me because they wanted to know if I’d seen anything like it.”

“What did you tell them?”

“I told them no.”

Derek misread that answer completely telling Alan that he was lying. Yes, his heart was beating fast, for many different reasons. Not the least was that Talia’s son — the son whom he had promised Talia he would look after — was standing right before him. Derek was also being accusatory and aggressive, and that caused a very uncomfortable thought to cross Alan’s mind.

Someone had killed Laura Hale. Could it be this angry, hard-looking man before him? 

In any event, Alan hadn’t lied to Derek. He had told the police that he’d never seen anything like it, and that had been the lie.

Alan’s worries weren’t dispelled when Derek attacked him, pulling him over his own examination table. It was a small mercy that Derek hadn’t been using his claws. While Alan had been trained in fighting by some of the best, including a werewolf, he didn’t have any weapons with him, and he had been completely on the wrong foot.

When he finally returned to consciousness, he knew he was in trouble. He was tied up and groggy, and he had a very angry werewolf on his hand. Alan was afraid.

He knew better than most humans where anger could push a werewolf. He concluded that either Derek was the alpha and trying to tie up loose ends or Derek was trying to find out what happened to Laura. Either way, he doubted that Derek was going to listen to him explain that he was actually his mother’s and his sister’s adviser, whom they had both seen fit to keep a secret from him, and he was as upset with Laura’s death as Derek.

Instead, Alan tried to defend himself as a normal person would. Derek angrily shouted questions at him and Alan gave answers that would hopefully clam him. 

Then things went from bad to worse. Derek had so busy demanding answers at the top of his voice that neither of them had heard the back door open. Scott had finally come in for his shift.

“What are you doing?” The boy shouted Derek. 

Alan tried to warn Scott, tried to make him leave. An angry, distraught, possibly-alpha Derek would shred his assistant like a pizza chef scattering mozzarella, and there wasn’t a thing that Alan could do it about it. Derek knocked him unconscious.

**~*~**

Alan came to in the back seat of a car. He was still bound by duct tape but now his mouth was sealed. He could just make out Derek behind the steering wheel, taking him somewhere.

For a second, Alan thought that Derek must be in terrible pain. He had lost his family and his alpha, and then he had lost his sister and his alpha. That type of emotional wounds could be devastating. Alan could try to help him through it.

But that compassion faded away quickly, as the wound on his own forehead flared with pain. Derek had invaded his clinic, beaten him, and then kidnapped him. Alan didn’t know what he had done to Scott. If he was the alpha — and while it was a horrifying thought, he still had no firm proof one way or the other — then he had also murdered his own sister.

He certainly understood have the sharp sting of grief could make a person act irrationally, but Derek had hurt him based on nothing more than guesswork and that a man had lied to a person who had broken into his closed place of business. 

Alan forced himself to remain as still as he could. He needed to keep his heart rate steady, so it wouldn’t draw too much attention to the idea. After all, he was never going to free himself from these restraints if Derek discovered his mistake. Talia’s son had taped him with his hands behind his back, yet Derek hadn’t checked his back pockets. Alan quickly took the pocket knife out and opened it. 

Eventually, Derek parked the car in what turned out to be the high school parking lot. There, much to Alan’s surprise, he met Scott and Stiles. It took all of Deaton’s willpower to continue to pretend to be unconscious at that discovery, yet he was glad he did. Listening to their conversation, he learned that Scott and Stiles were there willingly, and that Derek had told Scott that Scott had a link to the alpha.

Alan first felt relief. Derek had not killed his sister. 

This was quickly replaced by concern. Aside from the fact that there was now a rogue alpha loose, there was only one way which Scott could have a link with the werewolf who had killed Laura, and that was if he had been bitten. Suddenly, the boy’s uncharacteristic reactions to cleaning the dog cages made sense. His absences and his tardiness made sense, too. He’d need time to become used to the changes.

Scott had been drawn into the same supernatural world that Alan had tried so hard to leave behind.

Of course, he didn’t know the details of how that occurred, yet he doubted that it was something Scott had pursued. He further doubted that, given the fact that Derek and Scott were working together to find the rogue alpha, that it had been willing. A forced transformation was a terrible thing to do to anyone, let alone a teenager ignorant of the greater world around him. From what Alan had been taught, proper preparation to give someone the Bite took months, if not over a year, of getting to know the potential werewolf.

On the other hand, it did occur to Alan as he lay in the back of Derek’s Camaro that Scott McCall would probably make an excellent werewolf.

He had once talked to Laura about the validity of the maxim, the shape you take reflects the person that you are. That truth applied to everyone, magical and mundane, though the effects were more pronounced in magical creatures. Eventually, the acts we undertook, the beliefs that we held dear, would shape us into the people we were. 

In the time he had worked with the boy, he had found Scott was kind without being mawkish. He was dependable without being dull. He was curious without allowing that curiosity to violate other’s boundaries. He was polite to customers and honest with Alan. He had been raised well.

There were worse people who could have been bitten. 

Alan had freed himself within minutes after Derek displayed him to the boys. He needed a plan to get away from Derek and to talk to Scott alone. His thoughts were interrupted, first by a pathetic yowl and then from a full-throated roar being broadcast by the school’s speakers.

Scott’s roar. It wasn’t the roar of a new-born beta or a pathetic omega. It was the roar of an alpha.

Derek scolded the joyous pair when they came back and probably rightly so. He didn’t tell the boys that while the roar would probably summon the rogue alpha, it would probably be picked up by any other supernatural creature within Beacon Hills. Would Satomi respond? The Primal pack? Deaton’s urgency to be free and somewhere secure increased. He exited the car and made for the cover of the woods while they were talking. 

He realized only later that he had barely missed the arrival of the alpha. By the time he realized it was present, he had no idea what to do.

**~*~**

Scott had not come to work since that night at the school. It had been over a week and the boy had left no messages on his phone explaining why.

It was understandable, Alan reasoned. It had been the week of a full moon, and this would have been Scott’s first or second. Since he was in communication with Derek, Alan hoped that Hale would take the time to help Scott through it. Though Talia hadn’t had any Bitten wolves during her son’s lifetime, Derek couldn’t possibly be ignorant of how dangerous those first full moons could be. 

There was also the chance that Scott thought Alan was the rogue alpha. Alan had disappeared that night at the high school and only reappeared once the police had arrived. In fact, as he slowly reconstructed that night’s activities in his mind, he couldn’t blame them if they at least had suspicions. Avoiding the monstrous alpha’s presence had been a wise decision, but it might look to a casual observer that they were the same person.

On the other hand, Deaton would have had to been very speedy to free himself from the improvised restraints, shed his clothes and put them where they wouldn’t be found, transform into a beast, hurt Derek, stalk them through the school, and then manage to get dressed and in position to be ‘rescued’ when the police arrived. There was also the matter of the wound to his head, which someone familiar with werewolves would have to have healed, though not a terrified teenager

That was one of the reasons that Deaton hadn’t tried calling Scott yet. He couldn’t help Scott directly until the boy trusted him again and contacting him first would have opposite of the intended effect. 

He also didn’t have the right. Bitten or not, Scott’s life was still Scott’s. The only thing that Alan had the right to do was fire him for not showing up to work, something he wasn’t going to do. He wasn’t going to contact Scott’s mother, Melissa, either. Scott had been able to control himself enough to continue to go to school and even to show up for work, so while Melissa was in more danger than she had used to be, it wasn’t imminent. 

Respecting boundaries, after all, always carried an element of risk.

He certainly wasn’t going to involve Sheriff Stilinski, regardless of the involvement of the sheriff’s son, Stiles. Alan had become friends with Noah, but he hadn’t missed the tendency in his friend to bulldoze other people’s autonomy, especially if he felt that his badge gave him the power to do it and get away with it. Noah certainly wouldn’t hesitate to use the full power of his office to protect his son, the rights of others be damned. 

Alan also suspected that Stiles would never forgive him if he did tell his father.

Finally, he picked up the phone none-the-less and called Scott’s number. The boy didn’t pick up, and Alan hadn’t expected that he would. Yet he did want Scott to think he could come in and talk to Alan if he wanted to.

“Scott, it’s Dr. Deaton. Getting a little concerned about how much work you’ve been missing. Please give a call when you have a chance. If you’re having trouble, we can work something out.”

It was indirect, but he didn’t want to risk his mother or someone who shouldn’t know about Scott’s new state overhearing it. Hopefully, Scott would perceive the offer he was making and come to work.

That left his problem with Derek Hale. He had started to piece together what must have happened. Laura had returned to Beacon Hills for a specific reason which Alan didn’t know. She had been killed by another werewolf, who was now an alpha and had bitten Scott. Derek had probably felt Laura’s death and returned to the city from New York, probably to find out what had happened and who had killed her. He had encountered Scott and recognized him as a new beta. Together they were having to deal with a rogue alpha.

Alan could certainly leave it in Derek’s and Scott’s hands completely. Alan wasn’t responsible for what had happened, and he didn’t have any greater insight into the identity of the rogue. He didn’t have any authority to intervene. Yet three things kept him from being at peace.

First, he was not comfortable with Derek’s behavior. His aggression and sense of entitlement had been displayed in his demeanor and his actions. It was completely understandable that he be enraged at the loss of another member of his family. Yet, emotions could be valid yet not be a solid basis for decision making. Derek seemed to be pursuing vengeance rather than justice, and that could put a large number of innocents at risk. 

Second, he had made a promise. In the aftermath of Paige’s death, he remembered Talia’s suspicion that bad things were coming. She had been right, but she hadn’t been unprepared. They had talked about steps they might take. He remembered as clear as a bell, there was one night they had been discussing how someone might come at the Hales, and she had admitted that she would be target. She had made him promise to take care of all her children. 

He had promised her that. It was the least he could do.

Finally, there was the matter of the photograph of the deer. Someone had made sure that it would get into Derek’s hands, and they had known Derek would recognize the significance of the spiral and from where the image had come. This rogue alpha had pointed Derek at Alan, and that might have been this monster’s first mistake.

As he assembled the clues over the last week, Alan could begin to narrow down the suspects. Laura’s murderer could have been any number of betas or omegas who had come across a lone alpha and gotten lucky. Then, in the throes of newfound power, stumbled across a teenage boy in the middle of the woods and started a pack. But pointing Derek at the animal clinic bespoke not only intelligence but also specific knowledge that most random werewolves wouldn’t have. They knew how Derek would react, which meant they knew the Hales. Which also meant that Laura periodically returned to Beacon Hills from New York to follow the leads on her family’s death.

Most importantly, they knew about him. What other reason would they have for making sure Derek discovered something which had happened three months ago? Because they wanted Derek to think that a random veterinarian had a hand in his alpha’s death? Or because they wanted to tie up a loose end that Alan indubitably represented.

There was only one person alive who knew about all those thing: his connection with the Hales, the meaning behind the spiral, and enough family history to bait a trap. This person also was an old hand at using Derek’s emotions to get what he wanted.

Alan drove to the hospital’s long-term care facility. From the police tape and the activity surrounding it, the place had been wrecked. It took him five minutes to learn that Peter Hale was missing.

His first instinct was to drive immediately out to the Hale House, but he didn’t. Supposition wasn’t proof. Instead, he drove to the public library and poured himself into research, after canceling his appointments for the day. It took several hours of reading police blotters and tracking down news stories, but he could see that many of the deaths and disappearances of recent weeks conformed to information that Laura had put together.

The most likely scenario turned out to be that Peter had taken the alpha power from Laura in order to gain revenge on the person responsible for the Hale Fire. But Peter must have known something that Laura didn’t know. 

There was only one thing to do

Alan could be brave when he needed to be, but he was also cautious and, if he flattered himself, a little wise. He wasn’t going to walk up to the alpha and assume he would be safe or even if Peter — if it truly was Peter — would talk to him. He did have an idea of the best place to find the alpha. So, he stopped at home and dug a box of supplies out of the attic.

For part of his training as a druid, he had been taught how to move quietly. How to move without being seen. How to disguise his scent so not even an alpha could detect him in certain situations. It was like riding a bicycle. It all came back to him as he moved through the Preserve toward the Hale House.

He wasn’t the only one out there. He spotted the hunters surrounding the house before they saw him, and he watched Derek lead a teenager whom he didn’t know into the building. This was not going to end well. He was still trying to think if he should warn those inside when the hunters opened fire.

The young man he didn’t know came out the back, running back towards the road. The adolescent seemed to be okay. Alan thought about going after him when suddenly Scott also came out the back, running in a different direction, heedlessly. Alan tried to intercept him, but the boy, in his headlong rush, outstripped him easily. 

Yet not for long, for Scott had been shot. Alan caught up to him where the boy lay, passed out and bleeding black. He stamped down a flare of rage at the sight. This boy was sixteen. He wasn’t a threat to anyone, but if Deaton hadn’t been in the woods looking for Peter, Scott would have died from a hunter’s bullet.

All that promise bleeding out into the leaves alone. 

But Alan was present in those woods, and he could do something. He checked the wound and did what he could before picking Scott up and taking him away.


	4. Middle of February, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses some dialogue from the episode _Formality_

Alan had laid Scott out on the examination table and applied an antidote for the wolf’s bane. Luckily, he identified this particular poison as the general, most common variety, so he already had the supplies necessary squirreled away at the clinic. 

Scott was still out cold, lying so still on the table. He was breathing so shallowly that he could have been mistaken for dead by someone without Alan’s trained eye. Alan’s anger lurked in his ribcage, right below his heart. Someone this young should not be involved in events which featured assault rifles and poisoned bullets.

Peter had a lot to answer for.

Bending over, he got to work removing the bullet. It was wedged in the bone of his back rib after having perforated the lung. Alan had given Scott the strongest local anesthetic he had on hand in the clinic, but he still had to work fast. The drug wouldn’t last long, and the only thing as horrifically uncomfortable as someone feeling their body push a bullet out of its own chest was feeling someone digging that same bullet out.

Scott woke up moments after Alan dropped the bullet into an emesis basin. 

“I wouldn’t get up just yet,” he advised, kindly. 

As was only to be expected, Scott immediately had questions, though they weren’t very focused. His confusion wasn’t surprising considering the deep chest wound and the rapidly fading effects of the drugs Alan had given him.

But the boy did managed to question why Alan was acting outside of what might be considered by a regular person his normal comfort zone. Alan replied with something that he thought was witty and designed to put Scott at ease. Yet it was more than just that. It was a way to stall. 

When Scott passed out again, Alan relaxed. He had more time.

The unpleasant truth was that Alan didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t even fully processed Laura’s death yet, and here he was, confronted with an assistant who was a newly turned werewolf, a hostile and violent Derek, and a monstrous Peter on a killing spree. 

He had been trained to treat wounds. He’d been trained how to counteract poisons. He could move quietly and without trace in both the city and the wilderness. He had learned the rules that governed the supernatural world, what could and couldn’t be done. He could explain a situation that would reveal without directing, which would counsel without commanding. On the other hand, he wasn’t particularly skilled at pack politics, and, after Deucalion’s ill-fated actions of eight years ago, he was even more wary of serving as a contact point between the packs and the hunting families. He could put up an adequate fight if necessary, and he was a very good veterinarian. 

But he wasn’t a leader. At this very moment, he was only an advisor with no one to advise. 

He thought about contacting one of his old teachers, Satomi Ito. Her pack kept to the outskirts of Beacon Hills, staying in the rural areas and down in Hill Valley. But she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with a rogue alpha or the Hale family trauma. She was formidable, but she had never believed in seeking out trouble. She would not turn him away, but she would be disappointed if he tried to get her involved in this.

Satomi would chide him, in the very gentle way she had, for even thinking about it. She’d remind him that she was an alpha and not a police officer, and she would be correct in believing that neither Peter nor Derek were her responsibility. She would also very kindly remind him that they were not his responsibility either.

She wouldn’t be wrong. An alpha’s responsibilities began and ended with their pack, unless they chose to get involved in outside matters. Being a werewolf in the modern would was difficult enough without courting more trouble. 

Mulling it over, he sat down on a chair to watch over Scott’s sleeping form.

Miraculously, he managed to doze off until almost seven in the morning. He took a shower in the small bathroom behind his office and changed into the fresh clothes that he kept at the clinic for emergencies. He had never had to use them in twelve years, but he was glad that they were here now. 

Scott was stirring fitfully, most likely awakened by the sound of Alan preparing for the day. They boy was still weak from the poison and the wound, and he stumbled when he tried to stand. Alan suggested he sit down, and then the front chime ran, though they weren’t open yet. 

Alan started to go see who it was, and Scott grabbed his arm in fear. He wordlessly reassured his assistant and then went out to see who it was.

“I’m sorry, but we’re …” It hadn’t been fear. It had been a warning. Peter Hale stood just inside the front door, looking older than the last time Alan had seen him, though it was easy to guess that being half burned alive would do that to someone. Their eyes met, and Peter recognized him. “We’re closed.”

“Hi, there.” Six years since the fire, and Peter remained enough of himself to play this particular game once again. “I’m here to pick up.”

“I’m not sure I remember you dropping off.”

“This one wandered in here on its own.” 

Alan kept up the word play, because he was being a coward. He wanted to believe so much that his conclusions were wrong — that Peter hadn’t murdered Laura, hadn’t murdered five other people, hadn’t bit Scott against his will — and hearing Peter’s signature wit allowed him to pretend that his denial could be true, even for a moment. He also kept it up because if he said the words 'I won’t let you hurt him,' he would have committed to actions he wasn’t sure he wanted to take. They hadn’t gotten along, but Peter was absolutely part of the Hale family. 

“Even if I did, I’m afraid I can’t help you. We’re closed.”

The meaning behind those words conjured fury in Peter’s eyes. His next gambit would be to call on Alan’s loyalty to the Hales. “Well, I think you can make an exception this one time — don’t you?” 

As he had been trained was the best way to approach a hostile enemy, he offered a compromise. “I’m sorry. That’s not going to be possible. Maybe you could come back during business hours?”

“You have something of mine. I’m here to collect it.” So, that was how it was going to be, after all.

The time had come to draw a line, to state a position. He found it easier than he thought it would have been. He willed the mountain ash protection around his clinic into life, like a spark to gunpowder. He hadn’t had to do this in years. “Like I said: we’re closed.”

Both of them had understood what was going to happen in the days going forward. Peter had demanded of an Emissary the due respect one would show any alpha, and Alan had refused. They were now enemies. 

Alan couldn’t help but feel regret, yet that regret was drowned by the surety that what he was doing was right. Even when Peter threw a chair at him. 

The rogue alpha turned to leave, muttered something, and then angrily pushed his way out the door.

When he was sure that Peter was too far away to return for more violence, Alan rushed forward and locked the door before relaxing. The glass front wouldn’t stop a rampaging alpha, but he needed to speak to Scott without being interrupted.

In the back room, Scott was struggling to put on his shirt. 

“You shouldn’t leave quite yet. You need to let yourself finish healing.”

“I can’t!” Scott turned to him. “Did you hear him? He threatened Allison!”

“I did not hear that.” Peter probably pitched his voice so low only Scott could hear him, and frankly, that was something Peter would do. “Never-the-less, until you are fully healed, you are in no shape to do much of anything. I doubt that he will move against Allison while she’s at home, and if you give yourself time to recover, you will be able to be at the school when she is.”

“I should tell them,” Scott announced, though thankfully, he sat down on the chair.

Alan opened his mouth to say something, yet it wasn’t his place to question Scott’s decisions. He wasn’t an Emissary anymore. “Before you choose to do anything else, you need to make sure you’re in a condition for it to matter.”

“I can’t let him hurt her.”

Alan leaned up against the wall. 

“She doesn’t know because I didn’t tell her, and I didn’t tell her because I didn’t want her to … to …”

“Reject you.”

Scott looked up. “Yeah. I wanted to be her boyfriend, so if she gets hurt, it’s my fault.”

“Scott, if I may me suggest something? I’m not trying to tell you how to feel, but I think you’re making a common mistake.”

The boy looked up at him.

“When people get hurt, it is always the fault of the person who chooses violence. You’re not responsible for them. You’ll making plenty of you own mistakes in life without taking credit for theirs.” 

~*~

Kate Argent was dead. 

Alan did not mourn her. He hadn’t even known her, so how could he mourn her? He felt nothing, and that, to him, was a bit of a surprise. He would have thought that even after so long, since he had finally discovered who was behind the Hale fire, he would feel … something.

He was capable of hate; there was no doubt about that. He might refuse to let himself act on it, but he wasn’t an emotional eunuch. The past could still make him wake up in the middle of the night, unsettled and seething. 

It took him a while to figure his own emotional response out. People didn’t really hate the gun the criminal uses to kill the people you love. People didn’t really hate the fire hose with which the police dispersed the riot. Hatred was reserved for the will behind those actions. 

From what he could put together, Kate had been ruthless and immoral. He did not wish to describe her as amoral; she had beliefs in right and wrong, and she chose to ignore them. From what he learned about her, she had enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. She wouldn’t have enjoyed the patience and planning it took to arrange something like the Hale fire. She had been the weapon, not the person pulling the trigger.

Alan knew damn well who had pulled the trigger.

Peter Hale was also dead. He was far more ambivalent about it.

He would be able to mourn Peter. Talia’s little brother hadn’t been Alan’s favorite werewolf before the fire, but nothing he had done merited him being burned alive with his family and spending six years in a coma. When Peter had awoken, if he had come to him, Alan would have helped him adjust, not only because of his feelings for Talia, but because it would have been the right thing to do.

He would not have helped Peter with his revenge, especially since it apparently required him to murder Laura and inflicted a permanent and unwelcome change to Scott. He would have definitely helped Peter get justice, even if they had to game the system to get it. Peter’s descent into becoming a serial killing monster to gain his revenge achieved nothing. In the end, it didn’t undo what had been done. All it gave to Peter was an unmarked grave somewhere in the Preserve.

Scott had told him about the confrontation at the Hale House in a series of phone messages. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but high school sophomores weren’t well versed in espionage nor, thankfully, in breaking the law. Scott had called to let Alan know that he was all right and promised to start coming to work again on time, but then confessions had bubbled out of him in six different recordings. Alan had smiled at the way the last of them had ended with hope in the boy’s voice. 

His assistant thought it was all over. Alan suspected it might not be, that only the first chapter of this new story had been told. On the other hand, he realized something else: his contributions to that story had been minimal.

Thinking critically, he scorned the disquiet this caused. It had been completely his desire not to get drawn back in. Why was he dissatisfied?

Maybe it was because Derek was the new alpha. 

Derek hadn’t impressed Alan with his behavior the first time they had met. Yes, Laura had been killed, and Derek was sure to be upset about that. But Derek had used that emotion to justify breaking into Alan’s place of business, assaulting him, and kidnapping him. Listening to his heartbeat wasn’t the equivalent of telepathy. What if Alan had been a normal veterinarian who had, for example, told the police he knew all about the sign when he didn’t? Things could have turned out much worse.

He had also heard from Scott that Derek had briefly sided with Peter, and how he had convinced Derek that Peter had lied about why he killed Laura. How could Derek believe him? Either he hadn’t cared about Laura — which Alan thought was unlikely — or Derek had been so desperate for family that he had believed whatever story Peter had spun. That did not promise well for Derek’s critical thinking. 

Scott had also told him that Peter had ordered Derek to kill Jackson the night Alan had rescued Scott in the woods, though Scott didn’t think that Derek was really going to kill the other boy. Alan wasn’t quiet as sure.

All in all, it didn’t bode well for Derek’s new status. He hadn’t come to talk to Alan either, even to apologize, though perhaps that was Alan’s ego speaking. He didn’t even know what he would say if Derek did come. 

That was untrue; he did know one thing he could say. He would warn the new alpha that it wasn’t over.

He couldn’t spend too much time on these thoughts. He still had a business to run, and it was as important to him as the supernatural doings in Beacon Hills had been and seemed would soon be again. Being a veterinarian wasn’t a secret identity. It wasn’t a cover. It was something he enjoyed doing, and he was good at it, and it was something that Beacon Hills needed, probably more than an increase in violence.

The Thursday after the fatal confrontation at the Hale House, Alan was talking Mr. Timmons through the new medication for his cat. He had to be patient, because Mr. Timmons was one of those men who covered their helplessness with a harmless but enduring aggression, questioning the necessity of everything Alan tried to tell him. Unluckily for Mr. Timmons, Alan’s patient perseverance had never been defeated.

As the old man left, he turned to file the forms in the cabinet next to the counter. The bell on the door rang, which meant a walk-in, as he didn’t have another appointment until three.

“I’ll be right with you.”

“Please don’t rush,” the woman said. “I don’t have an appointment.”

It only took moments to finish with the paperwork, and then Alan turned to greet the new customer. She was an older woman, attractively, if severely, dressed, with short red hair. She also didn’t have a pet with her.

“How can I help you?”

“I’m having a problem with an animal, and I was hoping you could help me.”

Alan spread his hands. “It might have been better if you had brought it with you. What type of animal?”

“A wolf. Though I actually thought he might be here already.” The woman’s eyes glittered.

He took in a deep breath. “Mrs. Argent, what brings you here today?”

“As I said, I have a problem with an animal.”

Glancing around to make sure they were alone. He didn’t know if she would come by herself, and he didn’t want to discuss things in front of those with no knowledge of these things. “I would very much like you not to refer to a human being as an animal.”

Victoria set her jaw. “Fine. I apologize if I offended your sensibilities.”

“You should not apologize for offending my sensibilities. You should apologize for dehumanizing a teenage boy.”

“I don’t think it’s quite possible for me to do that. He’s not human, is he?”

He scowled but he kept his voice polite. “There is a great deal of discussion about whether werewolves constitute a separate species entirely or are simply humans gifted with extra supernatural abilities. I could lend you a book on the topic. It might do you some good to be better informed, because right now, someone could mistake you for a bigot.”

The Argent Matriarch chuckled. “We all know that sometimes, however rational things may sound, they are not always true. Such as this sentence: the boy is completely harmless.”

“No one is completely harmless.”

“I estimate Scott McCall has experienced two full moons, three at the most. His alpha was a deranged serial killer, who murdered eight people—”

“How many people have you murdered?”

She hooded her eyes. “You know better than to claim that Peter Hale and I are the same. I don’t kill innocents. I follow the Code.”

“Who in the Hale House had the blood of a human being on their hands?”

“Other than Derek Hale?” Victoria tilted her head to the side. “Besides, and this might shock you, I don’t condone what Kate did to that family. It’s disgusting. It’s degrading. I didn’t authorize it then, and I wouldn’t authorize it now.”

“I’m sure that would be a great comfort to the Hales, if any of them were here now.”

Victoria tsked in her throat. “That doesn’t sound very much like an Emissary.”

“It’s hard to be an Emissary for a pack that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“So you’re not Derek’s Emissary?”

“No.” He was not, but that didn’t mean things couldn’t change in the future.

“That’s unfortunate. If you chose not to something about the boy’s behavior, I was going to ask you to put me in touch with Derek as Scott’s alpha.”

Alan set his jaw. “Derek is not Scott’s alpha.” He wasn’t quite sure why he said that. “And I’m not sure what you are getting at.”

“I don’t want Scott McCall sniffing around my daughter.” She shakes her head. “He’s a newly bitten werewolf, and now you are telling me that he’s an omega. Even more reason to keep them apart.”

“Scott hasn’t harmed anyone.”

“It’s their nature.”

He was growing more and more irritated at her unshakable certainty. “Anyone can be violent, even hunters. Kate Argent was violent”

“Hunters can choose to be violent,” Victoria corrected him. “But if I wished, I could sell every single gun in my house, take my husband and daughter and move to Chattanooga, and never hurt another living thing ever again. Scott McCall cannot say the same.”

“You are reducing a young man’s entire life to the worst possible outcome. It’s not fair.”

Victoria leaned forward. “I’m not interested in being fair. I’m interested in protecting my daughter’s life. I’m interested in protecting my daughter’s future.” 

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Mrs. Argent. Even were you to convince me that your paranoia is well founded, it’s not my place to tell Scott whom he can date.”

“You’re his boss.”

“And if he forgets to feed the Dobermans, I will scold him.”

She narrowed her eyes. “He will listen to you.”

“I suspect he would. He has a great deal of respect for me. Unlike you, who is not listening to me at all.” Alan leaned forward in response. “I have no right to control his life or to take from him any right that any of his classmates have. If you want to prevent them from dating, you’ll have to do it yourself.”

“I will.” She turned in a huff, walked three paces, and then turn around. “It must be very convenient for you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Victoria was pale with fury. “Does the concept of Balance allow you to ignore your responsibility to others? How many tragedies could be averted if you simply gave a damn?”

“I do give a damn, Mrs. Argent, but any concept of Balance must include the realization that sometimes the cure is worse than the disease. My greater knowledge and training doesn’t give me the right to manipulate others into the outcomes I desire. For someone who had no idea about the atrocity Kate performed, I resent you lecturing me about my responsibility. Scott McCall’s lycanthropy is not my responsibility; I didn’t Bite him. Peter Hale’s murder spree was not my responsibility; I didn’t burn him and his family alive. Kate Argent’s most deserved death was not my responsibility; I didn’t instruct her to pervert your Code. And, finally, preventing Scott and Allison’s relationship is not my responsibility; your prejudice and fear belongs to you, and you alone.”

“I guess you have it all worked out, don’t you.” She gritted her teeth.

“No. I simply try not to be ruin people’s lives.”

“Then keep this is mind. My father-in-law is coming, and if he catches that boy and my daughter together, there’s going to be a lot of people’s lives ruined.”

She swept out of the clinic. 

~*~

Alan started reading the same page for the fourth time. He should just put the book down and do something else. He had managed to power through ten pages in the last hour, and he wouldn’t be able to tell anyone who asked what he had read.

It had been this way all weekend. After Victoria Argent’s visit on Friday afternoon, he had resolved to … act as he had always acted. He would go home, do some work around the house, and relax. He thought perhaps he would even take in a movie. Chong-dong Lee’s Shi was at the local cinema, and how that happened was a mystery.

Yet, he didn’t go. He didn’t relax. The entire weekend he had been unsettled, disturbed by the news that the Argent Matriarch had delivered along with her barbs.

He hadn’t returned Scott’s call. He hadn’t attempted to contact any of the participants in the last month’s events.

Shutting the book, he put it back on the bookshelf. He’d watch some television, if he could find something to watch on a Sunday night that didn’t insult his intelligence. The Amazing Race wasn’t going to make the cut.

There was a knock on the door. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and he had too many unpleasant surprised, so he checked out the window. Smiling, he went to the door and threw it open.

“Marin!”

“Hello, Alan. I’m sorry for stopping by without calling first, but …”

Alan looked around the room and then turned back. “I left my phone at work.”

“You left your phone at work.” She smirked. “May I come in?”

“Please.” He ushered her in. “You didn’t say anything about a visit when we talked on Thursday.”

“I wasn’t planning on visiting you when you called on Thursday.” She took her coat off and put it on the rack. “Though, technically, I’m not visiting.”

Alan raised both eyebrows. 

“I start tomorrow morning at Beacon Hills High School as their new French teacher and guidance counselor.”

The eyebrows responded by drawing together. “Why?”

“I’ll admit, it doesn’t pay what I’m used to, so I’ll also be seeing a few patients at Eichen House.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“I’m going to do what I’ve always done, Alan. Maintain Balance.” She walked into the kitchen; Alan followed her up.

“What makes you think that things are out of Balance?” 

She put his kettle on the stove. “They’re coming to Beacon Hills.”

Alan could feel his own heart start to race. “Who is?”

“You know who I’m talking about, Alan. Did you think the death of Talia’s heir and Peter’s rampage against the Argents wouldn’t have drawn his attention? He may have discarded temperance as a guiding virtue, but he cared very deeply for her and her family. He’s kept a distant eye on her sole remaining family members for years. He already had a suspicion who the alpha was when he learned Garrison Myers died of an ‘animal attack.’”

Alan felt the need to sit down. He was hoping things would calm down and go back to normal. That hope had just died.

“How do you know all this?”

“I told you I became an Emissary.”

“Marin!” Alan took her by the shoulders. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“I already told you why I’m doing this.”

“I understand your beliefs, but they killed every single Emissary in their previous packs! It’s a too great a risk.”

She shook herself free. “Well, thank you for your concern, but it’s my risk to take, especially when my beliefs impel me to action. To soothe your mind, Deucalion has no intention of killing me. Not while I’m … useful.”

Alan jutted out his jaw in frustration and went into the living room. He went and sat down on the couch until she came out with two cups and the honey.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you would react exactly as you’re reacting right now. If we want a better world, sometimes we have to go where the danger is.”

“Yes, but you’re not only hazarding your life, but also your soul. What has he had you do?”

“Many things. As Emissary, I am loyal to my alpha. I give him very good advice, and I offer my services when necessary. I do the same thing for him that you did for Talia.”

“Talia never slaughtered entire packs in a quest to fundamentally reform werewolf society!”

“No, she didn’t.” She poured the amount of honey she knew he liked into his tea and handed him a cup. “She just covered up the murder of an innocent child committed by members of her family.”

He almost dropped the teacup.

“I’m sorry. That was unfair.” She looked up at him. “I know, Alan, that you didn’t agree with it. But you helped her anyway, and it simply wasn’t out of loyalty, was it?”

“No.” He sighed. “Because all the other alternatives were terrible, and the least I could do was keep things from getting worse.”

Marin looked him straight in the eye and sipped her tea. 

He looked away. He always hated it when she got the upper hand in their arguments. “How many does he have?”

“Four.”

“Only four?” Deaton was shocked. “He must have gone through twelve packs that I know about in the last six years.”

“Few of them took him up on his offer, and those that did were ruthless enough to try to take his power as well.” She shrugged. “He calls it ‘winnowing the chaff.’” 

“He used to be a great man once.”

Marin scoffed. “He’s still a great man. Greatness doesn’t equate to goodness or even rationality. His goal remains the same — to end the centuries old struggle between werewolves and werewolf hunters. It is only his methods that have changed.”

“Replacing diplomacy with mass murder. Replacing tested traditions with Social Darwinism.”

“I didn’t become his Emissary because I think he’s right. I became his Emissary because he’s crazy powerful and someone needs to do something to prevent him from going too far.”

“Too far?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. He has Ennis Clark and Kali and a pair of twins. Unlike the others, Ennis and Kali knew him from before. As strong as they are, they understand him so deeply they’d never try to usurp him. The twins look up to him like a father. You’re familiar with the feeling, I know.”

He frowned at that remark. It didn’t make much sense in context. “Gerard Argent is coming here. Victoria told me, but it wasn’t much of a stretch that he would come after Kate’s death. Is he coming here for revenge?”

“Yes and no.”

“You’ll need to explain that.”

“Deucalion isn’t going to do anything as vulgar as kill Gerard. He wants Gerard to watch him reshape the world according to his vision.”

Alan sipped on his tea again. 

“What will you do?”

“I’ll do as I was requested to do. Watch and learn and report.”

“You’re a spy for him?”

She thought about it. “Yes. But it also allows me to control what information he receives. He’s probably aware that I’m manipulating him, but he also recognizes that I have certain advantages he’s going to need to get what he wants.”

“Talia’s son.”

“Perhaps.” She looked away. 

“Where are they now? How much time do we have?”

“I don’t know the answer to either of those questions. He has an idea of a lever he can use against Derek, but he has to go get it. And, no, he hasn’t told me what the lever is. I’ll know eventually.”

“Will you tell me then?”

“Probably not. You’re the one who keeps trying to warn me that I’m playing a dangerous game. Warning Derek of his plans won’t help Derek, and it will probably get me killed.”

“But you have told me things, Marin. You’ve warned me that he isn’t going to move against Gerard, and you told me about the members of his pack. That’s important information.”

“The Balance must be maintained.” She said it severely.

“The Balance?”

Suddenly, Alan filled in the ellipses and mysterious statements. She would tell him things and use that as an explanation only if she had told Deucalion something that would give him an advantage. There was only one thing that could do that.

“You _didn’t._ ”

“I did. I’m not going to say I’m sorry. I needed to prove he could trust me to come here by myself.”

“I told you that …” Alan stood up. “Marin, he’s sixteen.”

“I’m aware of his age.”

“You offered him up to the Demon Wolf!” He was shouting. He had never shouted at his sister like this since he had become an adult. 

Her voice was cool and hard, like a frozen knife. “Do you really think that, given everything you’ve told me about Scott, that he would sit the coming battle out? That if I kept his potential from Deucalion that he would’ve been content to watch from the sidelines when the violence starts again?” 

Now it was his turn to look away. “No.”

“That is because he’s not like you.” She said quietly. “He still thinks he can make a difference.”

They sat in silence for the rest of the night.


	5. Late February to Early March, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter uses dialogue from _Ice Pick_ and _Abomination_.

Alan sat in his office paying the clinic’s bills. With all the disruption in his life during the last month, he had still managed to keep the business on track. He benefitted, of course, from being one of only two veterinarians in Beacon Hills. Emil Penobscot had a larger hospital located on State Route 171 north of the county airport, but he focused mainly on treatment of livestock and other farm animals. As a consequence, he had little patience for pet owners who treated their animals like they were children. It was the man’s choice, though Alan wasn’t above reaping the benefits from his attitude.

When he had first moved to Beacon Hills in 1998, he had purchased an old store front and remodeled it, mostly using funds generously provided by the Hale family. Back then, he had been laboring under the wrong impression. Even while he had studied the lore and had gathered practical experience at the feet of his mentors, they had, one and all, insisted that he complete his degree and get a license to practice veterinary medicine in California. Talia Hale had actually been very involved in setting up the clinic. She had a prepared list of places for him to look at and an opinion on everything from the color he would paint the walls to the type of waiting room furniture he would buy. On his first open day of business, she had shown up with a little bell for the front door as a gift.

He had told himself that they – his mentors and Talia –simply wanted him to have a proper cover explaining why he was in town, but that was not the case. Their wisdom had been sound, and it became far more than a cover. To have a satisfying career, to have something that was his alone, to have something that tied him to the community that existed independently from the Hales, gave him the internal balance he needed to do his tasks as Emissary more effectively. He had listened when his mentors had stressed that both the mundane and the supernatural had to be equally important to him, yet he hadn’t really understood it.

When Laura turned fifteen, she had fallen in love with a high school senior – William “Billy” DeGaetani — who was, to put it mildly, a delinquent, while at the same time she had become surly with her family. Eventually becoming alpha had stopped being a cool but remote possibility and turned a burden. When compared to her friends, Laura’s future had been set already. Alan hadn’t needed a job to agree with Talia that it was an understandable but thoroughly annoying bit of rebellion for Laura to trail after a boy who if he wasn’t holding underage alcohol binge parties in abandoned buildings he was spraying graffiti all over someone’s garage. 

The key to resolving the problem hadn’t been Laura. Billy’s father, Mr. DeGaetani, was one of Alan’s customers, and he had sat down and talked to him about his son’s behavior. During their discussion, Alan learned that Billy’s mother had had a gambling problem and had fled Beacon Hills, abandoning her family, when the shame had become too great. Knowing this, Talia was able to intervene, track down Mrs. DeGaetani, resolve her problems with her creditors, and bring her back to her husband and son. It didn’t magically fix everything with the DeGaetani family, but it was useful with Laura. Talia showed Laura what she needed to see — that being alpha of the Hale Pack wasn’t just a burden. It could be an opportunity to make a difference in the lives of other people.

If he had back then approached the problem solely focusing on Laura’s place in the pack, he would have missed an opportunity for a successful resolution.

Being part of the community was important, even if it meant dealing with the United States tax code, which complicated Alan’s bookkeeping to a degree he had not thought possible. It was convoluted and arcane, and he often read thousand-year-old books in dead languages.

His attention was yanked away from the ledger and the past by the sound of glass shattering. It must has been caused by Scott; his assistant had been cleaning the examination room after Alan’s last appointment of the day. Peeking out of his office door, he saw Scott grab the hand broom and the dust pan, clearly upset, and start picking up the remains of a jar of coagulant powder and its contents. The look on the boy’s face was one of barely controlled frustration.

“Why do I get the feeling that you have a lot on your mind?” 

While he didn’t intend it to be a rhetorical question, Alan already knew the answer. Of course Scott would have a lot on his mind. He’d been a werewolf for thirty seven days. On the other hand, Alan recognized that he had phrased the question in the same way he had used to phrase questions to Talia when she seemed reluctant to speak but he wanted her to know he was there for her if she needed it.

“It just kinda slipped through my fingers,” Scott explained, and then mostly to himself added: “Everything is slipping through my fingers.”

He sounded just like a boy his age should, and Alan found it refreshing to be able to pretend for a moment that Scott was simply experiencing the normal trials and troubles of youth. On the other hand, it had been a full week since Kate Argent’s and Peter Hale’s death, so there was little chance that it was mere high school angst.

“Now that sounds a like a far too world-weary thing for a teenager to say.” 

“Sorry.” Scott seemed sorry to have disappointed Alan by complaining. Scott had survived a tremendous upheaval in his life, and he should be able to express his emotions toward it. 

Alan suddenly remembered another lesson taught to him by a druid. His mentor hadn’t used a smashed jar as an example, but had instead pointed to a tree struck by lightning. The principle would be the same. At the time of the lesson, Alan had been not much older than Scott was now, and he had been in emotional turmoil because a girl with whom he had been very close had finally confessed her attraction to him. He had mishandled his reaction, pretending that he had been attracted to her in return because he didn’t want to risk losing her. Eventually, she had been able to discern that he was not, and she had been even more hurt than if he had told her the truth in the first place. They had remained friends, but the friendship had never been quite as close as it had once been.

“You might want to try a different perspective. This is actually just entropy at work.”

Scott looked up at him, willing to listen, without sassy commentary or deflection, something which Alan appreciated. 

“And this is actually more the way of the universe than that.” Alan gestured at an unbroken jar on the counter. “But it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s falling apart. It’s just changing shape.”

His word choice was purposefully vague. He wanted Scott to understand that the still boy was still himself, even if Alan didn’t feel comfortable speaking plainly.

“For better or worse?”

It was the expected question, and it was one for which Alan wouldn’t provide an answer. It was something that Scott had to figure out for himself. “Exactly.”

He got up to return to his own work, when Scott stopped him. He wanted to talk about the night at the high school and the night that Alan had rescued him from the forest. 

Alan hesitated. He could have this conversation, easily. He could sit down and tell Scott everything the boy could possibly ever need to know about werewolves, about the Hales, about the danger Alan knew was coming. It simply seemed cruel to do it so quickly after what had to have been a traumatic experience with Kate and Peter. Scott had weeks before the next full moon, and what Alan suspected the boy needed most at this point was something resembling a normal life.

In addition, if he decided to tell Scott about this world, he wouldn’t be able to avoid telling Scott about the Alpha Pack and what it might mean for him. He would have to explain to Scott what Alan only suspected about Scott’s potential at this point. And he certainly couldn’t advise Scott on what to do about any of it, because Alan had not the slightest clue how any of them would survive Deucalion’s return. 

So he stalled. He distracted Scott with talk about a raise, which succeeded in focusing the boy on mundane matters while giving him a little burst of happiness. Alan was quite satisfied.

He returned to the office and sat down to finish the bills. He would leave afterward, letting Scott lock up as he had done for months. It had become their normal routine and being able to trust the boy had freed up Alan to do other things at night. He appreciated it.

Yet, the numbers on the ledger transformed into an incomprehensible puzzle. He couldn’t focus on them with any degree of accuracy. Out in the examination room, he could hear Scott getting ready to feed the dogs. 

“I did the right thing,” Alan told himself.

He saved the ledger program and shut down the computers. It was harder than people might think to remain completely confident in all decisions. To remind himself of why he wanted Scott to have time to adjust, he pulled a stack of letters out of the drawer. There were sixty-five of them, written to him by Laura Hale after she had taken Derek and fled Beacon Hills. He started with the earliest first.

The letter was a combination of a frustrated rant and a panicked plea for assistance. She didn’t know how to talk with her father’s family. She didn’t know how to talk to Derek. She was worried that she had done the wrong thing by leaving Beacon Hills. She was worried about leaving Peter behind. She didn’t come out and ask Alan to tell her what to do, but it was clear she wanted him to do exactly that.

He smiled. His reply may not have been what she wanted to read, but it was what she needed. 

As he leafed through each letter, the tone changed. She slowly took calmed down. She began to more comfortable having the final say on what she and Derek would do. She learned to handle Derek’s grief by handling her own. She stopped reacting and started thinking. Deaton hadn’t interfered or pushed her in any direction. He had never come out and told her at any time what she should do. He had offered support and perspective. In time, she had become alpha in full because she had to, and he had done what been for the best while being the most difficult. He had stayed out of her way. 

He nodded and put the cherished letters back in the drawer. Then he got his jacket and went home.

**~*~**

Alan may have broken a few traffic laws getting to the clinic. While he had had break-ins before, usually unfortunate souls looking for drugs and the random beta with misplaced issues of guilt and rage, this felt different. He hoped that Derek hadn’t decided to summon him for a discussion this way.

Coming inside, he turned off the alarm. Everything out front seemed copacetic, but the light was on in the examination room. He doubted that Scott would have left it on. He moved cautiously and saw a dead body spread out on the examination table. 

That wasn’t good.

“I was wondering if I could get your medical opinion on what killed this man.” Chris Argent waited patiently, leaning against his examination table. 

So that’s how he was going to play it. “I don't know if you saw the sign out there but this is just an animal clinic.” 

“I'm aware of that. I'm also aware you're not just a vet.”

Deaton worked his jaw. “Is this some form of intimidation?”

Argent shook his head. “No. It’s a request. I don’t know what did this.” He gestured at the man on the table. “It wasn’t a werewolf. I also doubt something that would do this would stop at one victim. So, I’m asking you, as an expert, to help me figure out what it is, and how I can stop it from hurting any more people.”

They locked eyes. Alan looked away when he decided to relent. “Come back in three hours. I should be able to tell you something by then, but I cannot promise anything.”

“Fair enough.”

Argent left him alone then, and he got to work. It had been six years since he had last had to study a corpse, though at least this one wasn’t lying in the woods. He had given the hunter three hours, because he suspect he would have to consult his texts. 

It was emotionally grueling work. The victim was a young man, probably mid-twenties, and athletics without being obnoxious about it. He was probably a hunter. He had calluses that spoke of intensive training with weapons. He also had traces of gunpowder on his fingers. 

The more he examined the body the more Alan realized he didn’t know what he was looking at. He sighed and rubbed at his face. The last thing Beacon Hills needed was something new.

Eventually, the door opened once again. He thought it might have been Argent returning, because his three hours of leeway was dwindling fast, but a hunter would be far quieter. Instead, Scott walked into the back room, looking at long claw gash on his side.

“Why isn’t it healing?”

“Because it’s from an alpha.” He stepped forward to get Scott’s attention, but the boy’s eyes immediately went to the corpse on the examination table. “I think we’d better have that talk now.”

Scott stared at him and then nodded. 

Alan pulled him over to the first aid station and began to see to the wounds. If it had been anything but an alpha, they would have healed by now. He wanted to interrogate Scott about what had happened to him, but he didn’t have time. The digital clock told him that the Argents should be returning any minute now, and they were always punctual.

Scott tried to get him to talk about who he was and what he knew. It wasn’t the time to do that. Scott needed to be prepared for the immediate future, and his investigation of the corpse had shown Alan many things, but the most import thing was that he didn’t know. He needed a bestiary, and he no longer knew where the Hale Bestiary was. It could be in New York for all he knew. 

After a split-second of hesitation, he told Scott about the possibility of Gerard having the Argent Bestiary. If anyone could get a copy, it might be Allison. It was a long shot.

He watched as the metaphorical ground slipped out from beneath the boy’s feet again when he realized there were more terrible things out in the night. Alan couldn’t blame him. He had been introduced by mentors in the safety of the groves and the variety of the supernatural world filled him with wonder. Scott had been thrown in the deep end.

The front door opened. He was out of time. 

“In the cat room, now.” He hissed, pushing Scott in that direction. “Don’t come out until they’re gone.” 

Scott didn’t argue. Alan would have smiled if he had time; the boy still trusted him, and that made him feel very good. He bent over the body when Chris Argent and two hunters came into the room.

“I’m thinking I need to buy a more prominent ‘Closed’ sign.” He wasn’t going to let this man push him around. Chris dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the jibe but not giving an inch.

Alan was about to force another concession from him, when things shifted dangerously. Gerard Argent stepped around the corner like he owned the place. Alan had hoped the elder hunter would have left after the funeral, but he should have known better.

“Hello, Alan. Last time I heard, you were retired.”

It was a warning, disguised as a pleasantry. _Stay out of my way,_ Gerard had truly meant.

“Last time I heard, you followed a code of conduct.” _I know who you are, old man._

Chris tried to get them back on track by reminding everyone of why they were here. Alan agreed to help, but he made sure they understood that he wasn’t siding him. Especially after hearing the news that it was Kate who had burned the Hale House, he was no fan of the senior members of this family.

“Killers come in all ages,” Alan remarked, looking Chris straight in the eye. _I know what your sister did._

“All ages, sizes, and shapes. It’s the last that concerns us now.” Gerard had little use for Alan’s disdain. His kind seldom cared what others thought about them unless it would interfere with his schemes. 

Chris tried once again to get them back on track, so Alan finally relented. What he had discovered about the corpse was frightening, even more so because he couldn’t put a name to what he had discovered. Alan had the knowledge, which he could have used against Gerard, but he also had morals. This thing was out there, and the Argents — no matter how ruthless they acted — were in a position to deal with it.

He spoke clearly and loudly, using a simpler vocabulary than he could have. Chris and Gerard most certainly had the experience necessary to understand more complex terminology, especially when it came to predators, but Scott may not be able to, and he wanted Scott to be on the same footing as the Argents. Eventually, satisfied by his report, they picked up the corpse of the downed hunter and departed. Alan waited until he was sure they were down the block before bringing Scott out of the cat room.

Scott had finished bandaging himself and crossed the room away from Alan. He didn’t catch him in the eye.

“Did you have any questions?”

The boy placed his hands on the counter top in order to do something with them. Suspicion warred on his face. 

“Perhaps I should rephrase that as a statement, Scott.”

“Why did you hide me from the Argents?”

It was not the question that Alan was expecting, but it made a certain type of sense. 

“The Argent family would see you as a potential threat for simply being what you are.”

“I know.” Scott remarked. “They’re against Allison and me being together.”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

Scott’s mouth thinned into a straight line. “So you know about them, too.”

“I do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Alan tilted his head to the side. “Do you want the honest answer?”

“That would be nice.” Finally, a degree of impatience crept into the boy’s voice. 

“When I realized you were a werewolf, I told myself many things, but the truth is that I did not know what to do. You seemed to be working with Derek Hale—”

Scott snorted. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Alan smiled. “By the time I realized that you may have needed my help, you were fully involved with the struggle against Peter and solving the mystery of the Hale Fire.”

“Yes, but earlier today you put me off.”

“I remember.” Alan sighed. “I didn’t think I needed to discuss all of this now. I wanted you to have a raise and go to a movie and do your homework and clean the cat cages for me.”

“I’d like that to, but I can’t. Derek’s biting teenagers and Gerard is cutting werewolves in half, and they’re going to get everyone killed. If I’m going to keep anyone else from dying, then I need to know what I’m doing.”

Alan put his hands together. Scott truly was remarkable, but he was still so young. “Scott, do you really think it’s your place to stop them?”

Scott laughed bitterly. “This is where you tell me I’m stupid.”

“I would never do that.”

“I kind of am. I’m failing two classes. Allison wants me to stay out of it or I’ll get caught in the crossfire. Stiles thinks it’s ultimately Derek’s problem. But … I can’t stand by and let people get hurt when I can do something to prevent it.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“I don’t know yet. Something. I tried to talk Boyd out of taking the Bite, that’s why Derek slashed me up.” 

Scott filled him in on Derek’s rapidly expanding pack. Alan was horrified at Derek’s attitude, but he kept his face calm. The last thing he wanted to do was set Scott against Talia’s sole remaining child. 

“And now,” Scott looked at the table where the hunter’s body had laid. “We have this reptile thing …”

“You’ve seen it?”

“I would have told you if you asked me.” Scott shot back. “And if I had known how you knew about the supernatural.”

“Fair enough. I was a close friend to both Derek’s mother and his sister, who were the Hale alphas before Peter. I knew about their family, and I helped them out when they needed it, sometimes by providing medical care, mostly by giving the alpha advice.”

“You give me advice when I need it.”

Alan paused. “I guess I do.” 

“I still need it. What do you think I should do? Do you think I should still try to stop them?”

“That’s a decision that you can only make for yourself, Scott. If you choose to take that action, it will be risky. Though I think you’re right. I think that unless something is done, people will continue to die. But people die every day, and that’s not your responsibility.”

“I can see what’s happening. I know if they keep acting like this, bad things will keep happening. I really don’t have a choice.”

Alan looked at the set of his jaw of the spark of determination in his eyes, looking out of place on someone who was still a child. _I guess he doesn’t,_ he thought to himself. _And neither do I._

**~*~**

Over the next few days, he had many talks with Scott about his abilities, about Alan’s history, about the role of alphas and betas, packs and hunters. He insisted on not dumping all the information he had on Scott at once, even though the boy pressed him for more.

Tethering Scott to his humanity was a task that Alan knew the importance of quite well. It would be so easy at this point for Scott to get lost in all the things he didn’t know about the new world in which he found himself and neglect other important things, like studying for his chemistry test. 

As a compromise, Alan did teach him a few useful skills like how to draw pain out of those who were suffering. Scott cried. Somehow, Alan hadn’t expected anything less.

On a Saturday morning, five days after the Argents stormed into his clinic demanding answers, Scott burst into the clinic about a half hour before he was expected to open. Alan did open 

“Doc? Are you here?”

He emerged from his office at the sound of urgency in the young man’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, well, everything’s wrong, but … something could finally be right. I think I figured something important out. Something about Gerard.”

“Oh?”

Scott paused to take a breath. “You know the poodle? I took pain from her.”

He nodded.

“You told me how it has osteosarcoma, and I said how it smelled bad. Gerard Argent smelled the same way.”

Alan looked at him. “I’m going to stop you right there. Why did you get that close Gerard? Scott, he’s quite dangerous.”

“Oh, I know. Really.” Scott reflexively put a hand to his stomach. 

“What happened?”

“Does it matter?” Scott asked, clearly wanting to return to the previous topic.

“It matters to me.”

“He caught me outside the hospital when I went to pick up my mother, and he stabbed me with a combat knife.” Scott dropped his eyes. “He threatened my mom, Doc, if I didn’t do what he said.”

Alan clamped his jaws shut over his initial response. He waited until he was sure he could respond without emotion, because it was Scott’s emotions that were important in this situation. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Scott didn’t know how to answer that, so they stared at each other until the boy swallowed. “But now I figured out why.”

“Why?”

“He knew I was a werewolf but he let me eat dinner with his family and acted in front of Allison and her parents like he didn’t know. It’s not like they love werewolves or like me wanting to date their daughter. Mr. Argent told me he’d be in trouble if his dad figured out what I was. So why pretend?”

Alan crossed his arms, waiting to see where Scott was going with this.

“Why wait at all? If he thinks I’ll do what he says because he threatened my mom, and all he wants to do is kill Derek, why not demand that I help him immediately? It can only be because he’s after more than just revenge. I think he wants the Bite.”

“That would be very out of character,” Alan suggested. “Hunters deal very harshly with those of their number who become werewolves. Gerard’s own brother killed himself after he was Bit.”

Scott’s eyes got big. “Really?”

“Yes. There would be consequences if he chose to do that. Fatal consequences.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a choice. And it would explain a lot of things.” Scott raised a hand. “If someone had cancer, would the Bite cure it, like it did with my asthma and Erica’s epilepsy?”

“Yes, it would, though it is a little more …” Alan stepped back. “You think he’s dying.”

“He takes these pills all the time. Allison told me about them. What if he wants more than just to avenge Kate’s death? What if he wants to live?” Scott grew excited. “He can’t just kill Derek. He has to find a way to make Derek Bite him before he kills him.”

“You might be right,” Alan said. “If the choice was between fighting to live as a werewolf—”

“As an alpha. He’d wouldn’t want to answer to anyone.”

“If the choice was between fighting other hunters as an alpha and dying from a terminal disease, someone like Gerard would choose to fight. That’s very perceptive of you, Scott.”

Scott shrugged, unused to the praise. “I want to find a way to stop him. Is there some way to make sure he doesn’t become a werewolf?”

Alan licked his lips. He was about to step into ethically suspect waters. “There is one certain way to make sure he does not become a werewolf.”

“I know, but I’m not going to do that. I don’t have the right to kill him for what he might do, Doc. I mean, I will if he tried to kill my mom or Stiles and it was the only way to stop him, but I’m not going to do that. On the other hand, I didn’t cause his cancer, and I’m not going to stand here and let him kill Derek to cure himself.”

Alan smiled. “Very well. I have an idea. You said he takes pills?”

“He carries them around in a little silver case. I’ve seen it several times. Allison says he always has it with him.”

Together, they worked out a plan. They would find a similar case and similar pills, and Alan would fill them with mountain ash. If there was mountain ash in his system, activated by Alan, he would reject the Bite.

Scott actually took notes. “Don’t worry. After I memorize it, I’ll destroy them.” He paused and looked pensive. “Will it kill him?”

“I’m not going to lie to you, Scott. There is a chance that artificially blocking the Bite will cause his death. Switching out his cancer medication won’t help his cancer very much either, if you are right in your conclusion.” Alan glanced over at his shelf of medicines. “There are other drugs I have …”

“It may make me sound stupid, but that’s a line I don’t want to cross. There is a difference between preventing him from succeeding and executing him.”

“There is.” Alan nodded his approval. “Are you going to tell Derek?”

“No. I can’t trust him.” Scott looked away. “I’m sorry if that it makes you upset.”

“It doesn’t. If you remember, he assaulted and kidnapped me based on the unfounded suspicion that I was the alpha. I don’t wish him ill will, and I wouldn’t turn him away if he needed my help, but I’m not too fond of him right now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Scott snorted. “He does that. It’s why I can’t trust him. He’s not talked to you since them, has he?”

“No,” Alan answered a little confused.

“Don’t you think you’re owed an explanation?” Scott shook his head. “He breaks in here, beats you up, ties you up, drags you across town, and when he has to realize he got the wrong guy, and he doesn’t even think to stop by and say ‘Whoops, I made a mistake!’ If he had done that, would you have at least considered telling him about what you used to mean to his family?”

“I might have.” Alan kept the pain at Scott’s inadvertent insensitivity off his face. “He was most likely embarrassed.”

“No. He wasn’t. Because that’s not the only time he did it. We made a deal, I’d help him find the alpha and he’d help me kill him.” Scott must have saw the shade of disapproval cross across Alan’s face. “Derek told me it was the only possible cure.”

“There is no cure.”

“I know that now, but I was desperate and a little stupid. But the moment he found out that the alpha was his uncle, he switched sides. Of course, I didn’t find that out until he helped Peter corner me in the locker room at school. He didn’t care that he sold me out. He didn’t even try to explain why he did it. Because he didn’t care about me, at all. He stood there while Peter made me see the fire.”

Alan blinked. “He made you see the fire?”

“Yeah, he put his claws in the back of my neck, and I remembered the fire like it happened. I remember him being trapped …” Scott took a deep breath. “But we all knew Peter was a dick, but Derek, after riding my ass about how I _needed_ him or the alpha would use me or kill me, he stood there while Peter used me anyway.”

Peter had used the memory ritual on Scott. It was a difficult ritual to master without practice. Peter could have killed Scott or paralyzed him. One of the few fights that Alan had had with Talia was her reliance on it to curb Peter’s mischief. 

“But he never explained why. All he did was tell me that Peter killing Laura was an accident, and that this stuff happens. And then he acts as if I’m ungrateful not to want to be a werewolf when I find out that they kill members of their family enough for it not to be a deal breaker.”

“That’s not really true.”

“I don’t have much else to compare it to. All I know is that when Derek wants something done, he doesn’t care who he hurts to get it. We were standing in the forest, and I watched Gerard Argent cut an omega in half with a sword, and I couldn’t believe it. Derek tells me that they were declaring war. The next day, he Bit Isaac. And then Erica. And then Boyd. Erica is younger than I am. He doesn’t care that he’s putting them in Gerard’s path. All he cares about is what he wants.”

Alan put his hands together. “I don’t want to sound like I’m defending him, but Derek’s been through a lot.”

“Yeah, his family was burned alive. Six years ago. Stiles’s mom died when he was eight. I’ve seen my dad ten times in the last twelve years. You don’t see us hurting people to get what we want!”

Scott was shouting now and Alan reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Scott, sometimes we hurt people when we don’t mean to out of fear or pain or anger.”

The boy calmed down. “I know. I lied to Allison, and I almost lost her. I let Stiles’s dad get hurt.” He shook his head. “But I didn’t do it on purpose. Derek does it on purpose. He knows that Isaac, Erica, and Boyd could get killed. He hurt you and me and Stiles on purpose, Doc, and he’ll never explain why. I can’t trust him not to make things worse.”

Alan couldn’t think of an argument that would “Then it’s up to us, isn’t it?”

“I guess it has to be.” Scott sighed. “So what do I need to do?”


	6. The Middle of March 2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This uses dialogue from the episode _Raving_.

Scott called him late one afternoon during Beacon Hills High School’s Spring Break. He was bringing Derek to meet with both of them in order to figure out a way to trap the kanima. In all the years of training, Alan had heard only stories about abominations like the kanima from his mentors, and they had been vague stories that seemed more like myths than oral history. When another student — Alan hadn’t liked contradicting his teachers — had pointed this out, the elder druid had replied sarcastically that since he had never heard of such a thing in the modern world and since neither had his teachers nor his teacher’s teachers, lore on these anomalies would unlikely to be useful in any event.

Alan was going to write a strongly worded letter to that particular druid. 

He was disappointed with the new alpha’s behavior so far, yet he couldn’t help but be disappointed in both Talia and Laura. How was it possible that they had messed up so badly when it came to Derek’s growth as a person? Derek had Bit Jackson Whittemore, a boy whom Alan could tell by Scott’s description alone was an unstable narcissist. Then, when it seemed clear that the Bite had gone wrong, Derek had abandoned Jackson to his fate. If only Derek had been more compassionate, the alpha would absolutely have noticed Jackson becoming a rampaging killer lizard earlier.

Alan understood that it must have brought up terrible memories of Paige, the girl that Derek had loved and then had to kill because she had been Bit by his design, but Derek had no longer been a fifteen-year-old boy. He was a twenty-three year-old man, and he had taken on the responsibility of being an alpha and building a pack. 

He took a moment to compose himself, forcing himself to put aside his feelings of disdain for Derek. Not only did he have to grapple with salvaging Jackson Whittemore from his terrible situation and stop the plans of his mysterious master, but he also had to make sure he did not stoke Derek’s suspicious nature when it came to Scott. The boy had pretended to join Derek’s pack in order to save Jackson but also to satisfy a demanding Gerard. They had found a nearly identical pill case and filled it with replacement medicine. Scott only needed to find a way to replace the true pill case, and that would be a matter of opportunity.

Gerard had acted, insisting that Scott join Derek’s pack and feed him information on the other pack members. He had not, though, demanded the location of Derek’s hideout, and that simply indicated to Alan that Scott’s suspicions were correct. If the goal was simple revenge, he would have attacked them when they were unaware and easy to kill. He obviously had a deeper plan. 

Scott, Derek and one other person entered the clinic, loud enough to alert Alan. Scott expressed irritation at Isaac’s presence, and Isaac expressed his irritation at Scott’s irritation and Derek expressed his irritation at both of them. Derek demanded to know if the vet was there and going to help them or not, which meant the alpha hadn’t figured out yet who he was. 

“That depends,” Alan said, stepping around the corner. “Your friend Jackson. Are we planning to kill him? Or save him?”

The question was both a message and a test. If Alan was going to be involved, he wasn’t going to kill a teenager in the thrall of a supernatural curse out of expedience. He wasn’t in the mood to clean up another of Derek’s messes. 

Derek and Scott gave contradictory answer, clashing over the simple question of whether they should try to save Jackson Whittemore. Scott won, apparently and reassured Alan that they were going to try to save him.

If Gerard hadn’t been threatening violence on Scott’s loved ones, there was no way that they would be in the same pack. Derek was simply unable to trust enough to compromise, and Scott was too strong willed to be browbeaten into obedience. 

He brought them into the back room, and they discussed what they knew about the kanima and its master. At first, they seemed unable to figure out a way to capture him until they all came to the conclusion that the kanima’s fear of water came from its master. 

“Essentially, you’re dealing with two people,” Deaton pulled out a symbol of Cernunnos, given to him by his old teacher. “A puppet. And a puppeteer.” 

They talked it out and they came to the idea that the two must be mystically linked together, which meant that master might be vulnerable to being trapped by mountain ash. They couldn’t be completely sure that it would work — there was a lot of supposition involved — but more than a little evidence. 

“We can catch them.” Scott concluded. “Both of them.”

Scott seemed excited by the prospect, about a way to stop people from dying without having to kill anyone themselves. Alan kept his eyes on Derek, though. By the hunch of his shoulders and the lips drawn down and tightly over the jaw, the alpha didn’t have the same positive outlook. 

“So, I finally get to go to a rave,” Isaac snarked. “Cool.” 

“We’ll meet an hour beforehand,” Derek finally said, turning to Deaton. “You can get us the supplies you need.”

“I can.”

“Good. Come on, Isaac.” Without any further deliberation, Derek turned and left the room. His beta trailed after him. Scott looked after them, his brows knitting together, but he didn’t stop them. 

The bell rang, announcing the duo’s departure, followed soon by the roar of the Camaro’s engine.

“Since he isn’t going to say it, I will. Thank you, Doc.”

“You’re welcome, Scott. I don’t need thanks.”

Scott shrugged. “You’re not required to help us. You didn’t turn Jackson into a supernatural vengeance machine.”

“It’s a generally accepted idea that the correct thing to do is always act when you can save lives. I can help, so I will.”

“I know.” He looked at the door. “I wish I could trust Derek more. It doesn’t feel right.”

Alan crossed his arms. “Then tell him the truth.”

“I …” Scott hesitated. “I can’t. You heard him when we came in. I told him I’d join his pack if he helped me try to save Jackson, and once I … pretended to join … he wanted to kill him. He went back on his word not twenty-four hours after he gave it. He hasn’t even admitted that he was wrong to try to kill Lydia. I know I am no better—”

“That does not matter. Derek’s bad actions are neither excused nor justified by your bad actions. Your bad actions are neither excused nor justified by his bad actions. You didn’t lie to him to get back at him, did you?”

“No!” Scott protested, and Alan believed him. “I can’t trust him to help me protect the people I care about. He seem to want only to kill his way out of things, and I don’t want that.” 

“But you are aware that what you’re doing, on some level, is wrong. You joined his pack under false pretenses.”

The boy nodded.

Alan took a deep breath, unsure of how far he wanted to go. He didn’t want to push Scott along a road that the boy had never considered, but he was already acting like a leader. “This is something everyone has to learn. You don’t want to deceive Derek, but you also believe you can’t trust his decision making.”

“Yeah.”

“Being honest is a good thing. Being wise is also a good thing. But there will always be times when you can’t be both. Therefore you have to look at the situation and decide which principles are most important to you and be willing to sacrifice others.”

Scott turned away and walked toward the back of the clinic. Alan waited for him to think about it. He could feel himself falling back into the same patterns of behavior he once relied upon.

“When I was Bit, everyone who knew — Derek, Peter, Chris Argent, even Stiles — acted like my life wasn’t up to me any longer. To them, being Bit by Peter took away all my choices. I was going to have to kill, I was going to be driven by my … nature. They told me that I had to have a pack, so I had to have an alpha. What I wanted simply didn’t matter anymore. And some of them were more than willing to judge me or to force me to act the way they thought I should act. Some were willing to kill me because of what they thought I had to do. That’s wrong.”

He turned to look at Alan. Scott wasn’t scared. “I’m not going to let Derek do it to me or to anyone else. I’m not going to let Gerard do it to me or anyone else. If I have to deceive Derek to stop him from murdering Jackson for something Derek did to him, and if I have to poison Gerard to keep him from murdering Derek and his pack, then I’ll do it.”

“Jackson chose the Bite.” Alan pointed out.

“Jackson didn’t choose to be a kanima. He didn’t understand what he was choosing; he didn’t know any better. Derek may not have known that Jackson would become a kanima, but he knew he was drawing Jackson and Isaac and Erica and Boyd into a war that I’m sure he has no idea how to win. I _can’t_ follow him.”

“Then I think you’ve made your decision.”

“I guess.” Scott sagged. “I just don’t like it very much.”

“You will find that standing up for what you think is right is seldom very comfortable, especially if you continue to care about others. It will most often require sacrifice. It will almost always require compromise. No one enjoys those things.”

Scott turned to look at him. “This is what you did for Derek’s mom.”

“In a way, yes.”

“Well, I know one thing.” Scott laughed. “You were good at your job.”

 _Not good enough,_ Alan thought uncharitably to himself. “Come back right before you go to the rave. And bring Stiles with you.”

**~*~**

The worst part of his position as Emissary had always been the waiting. Talia would come to him to discuss her plans to deal with some trouble or another, and they would debate and research and plot, but when it came down to actually doing something, he would remain behind. He couldn’t say he was _left_ behind, because that would imply that he had wanted to go along and was told he could not. He understood what was required of him.

As Emissary, he needed to be able to supply an objective analysis for any undertaking: what it might mean to the pack, what it might mean to the pack’s place in the community, and what it might mean to the community as a whole. This was crucial information for an alpha to have in order to make the right decision. Centuries of practice had made it perfectly clear that an Emissary who fought alongside the pack would simply not do that very well. Shared suffering and shared risk formed emotional bonds. For example, if a pack’s conflict with a neighboring tribe endangered its place within the community, then the Emissary had to be able to warn the alpha about it and suggest that hostilities end. If an Emissary had watched a member of the pack hurt or even die in the conflict, it would be hard to make that suggestion. So, the wisest Emissaries sat out battles.

It didn’t mean that it wasn’t hard. 

It was especially hard tonight, because Alan wasn’t acting as an Emissary. He had no relationship with the new Alpha Hale. Derek was uninterested in cultivating him or even listening to what he said. He had helped them work out a plan and supplied them with the materials they needed because he wanted to help Scott. Alan had done his best but given how much he did not know about the situation, it felt like he had sent those children into the lion’s den.

Maybe he should have gone and spread the mountain ash himself, but he felt it was far more important to give Stiles a significant role to play in tonight’s activities. Scott needed people on his side and only his side while this matter approached its conclusion. Derek obviously put his pack first and, while he clearly wanted Scott in his pack, Scott would probably never join. Alan also suspected that Allison Argent would eventually find herself torn between Scott and her family. 

Stiles was already Scott’s best friend, but Scott had confided that he worried that he was endangering both Stiles and Allison by getting them involved. Allison would no doubt demonstrate her strength to Scott on her own terms, yet Alan could already see the tension caused by an untrained human feeling inadequate and a very new werewolf — it was important to remember that Scott had been one for maybe ten weeks by this point — feeling that he was placing a loved one in danger. By giving Stiles an important task, Alan hoped he was reinforcing the bond between them.

At least, Alan hoped it would. That was very much the plan, but there were a lot of complexities in this situation. 

He glanced at his phone, sitting silent and off on the desk. He could pick it up, call Scott or Stiles or Derek, and see what was happening. But he shouldn’t.

Part of him resented it. He wasn’t an Emissary anymore. He didn’t have to remain above it all, removed, unemotional. He could directly protect the people he wanted to protect. But he also understood that he could do far more good by doing what he had been trained to do. What he was best at. 

Even though it was so, so terribly hard.

Hours passed as he sat at his desk. The only good thing about waiting is that he finished off all his paperwork. It piled up over the days, especially as was disturbing more frequent in the last weeks, when his mind wasn’t in it.

The back door opened, banging as if someone had kicked it. 

“Help!” It was Derek Hale’s voice. Alan sprung up to see what was wrong to find Derek with Scott slung over his shoulder. 

“What happened?”

“I don’t know if he’s breathing! I can’t tell.” Derek seemed a bit frantic. 

Alan led the man into the examination room and pointed to the examination table, so Derek spread him out. A quick investigation showed that Scott was indeed having difficulty breathing. He also showed signs of wolf’s bane poisoning, but there were no wounds on the body. 

“How did this happen?”

“She poisoned him,” Derek said breathlessly. “The air was full of it.”

Alan looked at him. “Did you breathe it, too?” 

“Yeah, but I’m fine, I’m fine. But Scott was barely breathing when I got there, and he’s not getting better.”

Rushing to the cabinet, he got the bronchodilators he kept on hand for both his canine patients and the spare dosages for humans ones he kept for Scott, ever since he learned that his assistant had asthma. Calculating rapidly, he gave him the maximum possible dosage. He had to keep Scott breathing while he worked on neutralizing the wolf’s bane.

He wished that Derek had thought to bring whatever had turned wolf’s bane into an aerosol weapon, but he realized he was being unfair. He turned to the alpha. “What did it smell like?”

“Huh?”

“The wolf’s bane. The species capable of being used like this would have a distinct smell.”

Derek thought about it for a moment. “Smell his clothes. I can still smell it from here.”

It was a good idea. Alan inhaled the scent. “Okay. Good. I have this.” He dodged back into his office and quickly brought out the materials for the wolf’s bane antidote. He hurried put it together.

“Will this help him?”

“It should. The medicines I gave him should alleviate the symptoms long enough for the antidote to purge his system. Whether we’re in time or not …” Alan frowned. “That remains to be seen.”

Derek thinned out his lips and forced himself to sit down. “I got to him as fast as I could.”

“I’m not blaming you, Derek.” _For that,_ Deaton added silently. “No plan survives contact with the enemy.”

He applied the antidote and hovered over the boy. It would take a few minutes to tell if it was actually working.

“I Bit her.” 

Alan turned to Derek. “I’m sorry?”

“Victoria Argent. She came at me with a knife, and … I Bit her.” The alpha shrugged helplessly. “I’d been shot so much and the wolf’s bane, but …”

Turning away, Alan realized the enormity of the situation. A werewolf had bit the Argent Matriarch. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”

“She has to kill herself, doesn’t she?”

“That is part of their traditions, yes. Derek, there’s going to be consequences for this. Gerard will spin this … I don’t know how many different ways that he could spin this.”

“I’d take it back if I could.”

Alan bent over Scott’s unconscious form. There was nothing to say to that except that Derek couldn’t. He could also be cruel and tell Derek that this was a feeling he should be well accustomed to by now, but that would not be helpful. It would be lashing out emotionally, something that children did. Instead, he focused on his patient.

The signs were good. “He should recover. As a precaution, we should watch over him tonight.”

Derek looked up hopefully. “Thank you.”

Alan nodded and then left the room. He took Scott’s phone with him, which had been removed from his pockets. He called Stiles’s contact.

“Hey. Scott!”

“No, Stiles, this is Dr. Deaton.”

“Oh. Do you have news?” 

“Yes, I —” The phone line went dead. Alan looked at the phone to see if something was wrong. 

The front door flew open. Stiles must have been waiting outside in his jeep. “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

“He’s sleeping, Stiles, and I think he may be okay.”

“Think? You don’t _know?_ ” 

The accusation hung in the air. Stiles was simply anxious and worried. 

“Stiles, I’ve eased the problems with his breathing and I’ve neutralized the wolf’s bane that was used. Unfortunately, that’s all I or anyone can do for now. His healing will most likely remove the rest of the toxin and repair the damage to his lungs. All the signs are positive, but we won’t know until morning.”

“Oh.” The boy bit his thumb.

“I think Scott would need to make sure that this is covered with his mother. Could you do that for him?”

“I already have it covered. His mom thinks he’s spending the night over at my house tonight, and my father doesn’t get home until eight in the morning. Can I see him?”

Alan nodded. Stiles rushed into the back room, and he followed him back.

The boy hovered over his friend and shot glares at Derek for no other reason but that was the only thing he could do. 

“Why would she do this?” 

“Because that’s what the Argents do,” Derek ground out. 

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, Stiles,” Alan corrected. “There are many factors in play here that could have pushed Victoria to such an extreme.”

Stiles looked up, clearly having none of it. “Is the fact that she’s psycho one of them?”

“People don’t need to have mental problems to do evil. It’s a fallacy to think so. I suspect that she had a more elaborate justification.”

“Oh, really?” The sarcasm dripped off his words.

“Yes, Stiles, really. Victoria Argent has dealt almost exclusively with violent werewolves, those who killed human beings. If a werewolf pack lived in peace among human beings, the Argents—” At Derek’s snort, Alan paused and stared at him until he subsided. “The Argents tended to have nothing to do with them. When all you see are the dangerous ones, you begin to think that they are all dangerous. Scott is a newly-bitten werewolf without a strong pack and no alpha. To someone with Victoria’s experience and prejudices, Scott’s very nature was a threat to her daughter’s safety.”

“Scott would never hurt Allison; she’s his anchor.”

“We know that. I’m trying to explain to you how someone could come to this conclusion. In addition, she is in a power struggle with Gerard Argent for the control of her family. Gerard is going against centuries of tradition to try to take over the family. Scott represents an unstable development. Victoria was already in a weakened position because she insisted that Allison have a choice about whether she would become a hunter or not. Allowing her daughter — and ‘allowing’ is how it would be seen — to pursue a romantic relationship with a werewolf would weaken her position to the point of non-existence. It also might deprive Allison of her birthright as the Argent Matriarch, if news of the relationship got out.”

“She should let Allison choose who she wants to be with.”

“Absolutely.” Alan nodded. “But to a mother wanting the best for her daughter, Scott represented a real and ongoing danger. It doesn’t justify murder; it does explain it.”

“Well, how do we make her pay for her unjustified attempted murder?” Stiles demanded.

Alan didn’t answer but he glanced at the alpha. Derek may have already taken care of that.

**~*~**

On the night of the Worm Moon, Alan found himself at the limits of his patience. Derek had three new betas. Isaac Lahey had gone through one full moon already, but this would be Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes’ first exposure to the moon’s full power. Derek had pushed to expand his pack too quickly. With the cells underneath the Hale House unavailable to the alpha due to the woods crawling with Gerard’s hunters, Alan hoped that Derek had found someplace adequate to ride out the night.

Victoria Argent would likely soon be dead. Either she had already killed herself or she was about to. The Argent Code was clear: a Bitten hunter had to remove the danger to the family and humanity by the next full moon. The repercussions of this would be felt almost immediately.

Tonight marked Scott’s fourth full moon, but he had assured Deaton that he did not need any particular assistance, and Stiles had backed him up. 

“I wouldn’t think to tell you that you should stay somewhere safe, but you told me that last full moon you demolished a refrigerator.”

“On purpose!” Scott had protested. “I have to be out. Whoever is controlling Jackson might do something.”

“I thought you were going to a party.”

“Allison has to go to the party to be with Lydia. The master threatened to hurt us if we got in their way, and at the rave we definitely got in their way. Lydia would have absolutely invited Jackson.”

Alan hadn’t tried to argue, since no one else seemed worried about Scott’s ability to control himself. It would probably be a good thing if Allison wasn’t home that night either. The other hunters would be out beating the underbrush, and they would hopefully come up empty.

Still, he couldn’t seem to reach the same level of equanimity he always had. There were children out there, in danger, and he couldn’t read a book and wait to wind the clock if he could do something to help.

He grabbed his car keys and left his house. He would drive by Lydia Martin’s party first. When he had heard that she had been Bitten by Peter, he had looked up her address. She lived in one of the wealthier neighborhoods in town, not that far from the remains of the old Hale House.

Alan saw the police lights long before he reached the house though. It looked like the party had been broken up. He should be disapproving of teens drinking, but he remembered the parties from his youth. It really wasn’t a great party until someone called the cops. As he drove down the road, he saw party goers rushing away to avoid getting busted, so he slowed down. He thought about turning around, but he felt perhaps he should make sure the cops had been called for drinking or drug use and not an out-of-control werewolf.

A figure ran up to the car, waving to get his attention. It took a moment for Alan to realize it was Scott. He looked completely in control, which made Alan relax a bit. He rolled down the window.

“Thank God you’re here!” Scott exclaimed. 

“What happened?”

The boy’s eyes bugged out. “What didn’t happen? Lydia spiked her punch with something that made everyone, including me, hallucinate, but I can’t find her! Or Allison! Derek’s in trouble! And I know who the kanima’s master is!”

“Slow down. One thing at a time, Scott. Why would Lydia do that?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Alan watched Scott vibrate with worry. “People said they saw her leaving a half-hour ago. What kind of drug would make me hallucinate?”

Alan thought about it for a moment. Any mundane drug in a strong enough concentration to affect Scott would overdose a human being. Unless it was … “Scott come closer.” He pulled out his penlight and shined it in the werewolf’s eye. “It could be wolf’s bane.”

“Where would she get that? Why would she poison everyone? I have to find her. Allison left, too, and she’s not answering her phone.” 

Fighting off a grimace, Alan decided to avoid the topic of Allison. “You said you know who the kanima’s master is?”

“It’s Matt!”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“He’s a senior at school. He takes pictures. He fell in the pool and couldn’t swim and Jackson pulled him out, real bodyguard style. Jackson doesn’t do that. Then I came outside and I saw Matt with the kanima. I don’t … I don’t think I was hallucinating.”

“That would be a very specific hallucination. Can you think of a way to confirm it?”

As if on cue, Stiles pulled up in his jeep. His clothes were wet. 

“Stiles wants to go talk to his dad, but I can’t just leave Lydia and Allison out there somewhere with Matt free.” 

“Did Lydia take her car?”

“Yeah.”

“Allison should be fine with her family.” For a given definition of fine. “And you won’t be able to track Lydia in a vehicle. Matt should be your priority. He’s the threat.” 

“You … yeah, you’re right.”

Stiles laid on the horn. 

“Okay, Stiles has an idea, so I’m going with him.”

“I will inform Derek of what you discovered and the fact that there might be something wrong with Lydia.” Alan had been told by Scott of the alpha’s hideout in the train station, something he had not shared with Gerard. 

“That sounds great. Thanks, Doc. You be careful though.”

Alan assured Scott that he would be and then pulled away. He drove a circuitous route to the train station. It wasn’t beyond the possibility that the Argents would try to follow him under the assumption that he had started serving as Derek’s Emissary. Only when he was fully confident that he was alone did he go to the train station.

There were soft growls coming from one of the train cars. Alan called out for Derek, but there was no answer immediately. That was disturbing. He readied the packet of mountain ash just in case he had to deal with a dangerous werewolf.

“In here.” Isaac’s voice, thick with fangs, called out. “Be careful.”

He carefully entered the car. Erica and Boyd, bright-eyed and furious and lost in the moon, strained against chains in the back. Isaac was sitting on one of the seat, calmer but still with glowing eyes. 

“Where’s Derek?”

“I don’t know.”

Alan found it hard to believe that, even with his present low opinion of the alpha’s decision-making, Derek would leave his brand-new betas alone. “What happened?”

“Lydia Martin happened. I heard Derek right outside this car say her name. Then I heard him collapse and she must have dragged him away. I … I thought about following, but I’m not sure I could control myself if something violent happened.”

“That was probably wise.”

“Anyway, someone has to look after Boyd and Erica. They’re not doing that well. If they get free, they’re going to hurt someone.” 

“Again, probably wise. I will look for Derek. You said he was just outside?”

Isaac nodded once. 

It didn’t take long for him to find the drag marks on the floor of the warehouse, mostly because there is a purple powder marking the starting point. The whole situation seemed very strange. Alan hadn’t imagined a girl like Lydia capable of dragging a large man like Derek, but she had. He knelt down and touched the powder, sniffing it. He also hadn’t imagined a girl like Lydia knowing how to create a wolf’s bane powder capable of taking down an alpha, but she had done so.

He followed the trail out to where her car must have been parked. It was impossible to guess at her motivations for both the use of wolf’s bane at the party and on the alpha, especially on a full moon. 

Not just a full moon. A Worm Moon. “He _wouldn’t.”_

Alan had kept his distance from Lydia Martin even as he was curious how she had not changed from an alpha’s Bite. He couldn’t think of a way to insert himself into her life after the savage attack by Peter without drawing too much attention. He had hoped, probably foolishly, that after a few more weeks had passed, he could send a reminder card for her to get her beloved dog checked out. 

It had clearly been a blunder. He had wanted to look into the mystery because he assumed it was an interesting anomaly. What if it hadn’t been? What if she had been intended to be Bitten and not change on purpose? 

Resurrection rituals were not Alan’s forte. He had learned about them during his training and had once discussed it with Talia, who had found a book in the family library that detailed them. Some of the elements, including this particular moon and emotional energy, were striking chords of memory. He had never been interested in taking a glance between the book’s covers.

But Peter might have been. 

Desperately, he wondered where Derek had buried Peter. There had been no news reports of a patient in the long-term care ward showing up dead, so he must have done it somewhere it wouldn’t be found.

Alan snapped his fingers. He’d have buried Peter the same place he had buried his other family member: The Hale House.


	7. April 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This uses dialog from the episode _Master Plan._

The work day was coming to a close.

“Are you going to be okay, Scott?” Deaton asked, his hand on the door.

“Yeah.” Scott answered. In the history of dejected teenagers, his answer may have been the least convincing ever.

Earlier, when Scott had come in for work, he had been verging on distraught. He had dutifully reported on the events of the previous Saturday night and early Sunday morning. Stiles and Scott had convinced Stiles’s father that Matt was behind the murders, only for Matt and the kanima to assault the station. Scott had been shot and his mother had seen him transformed. Since then, Melissa McCall had avoided her son, even going so far as to lock the door of her bedroom when they were in the house together.

Alan didn’t know what to say to say; he obviously couldn’t promise Scott it would get better. His mother had discovered the truth in the most unfortunate way possible, framed by horror and violence. It might take a long time before she was ready to talk about it. She might never be willing to talk about it. What could he say to a child when their mother had rejected them? Alan had no clue.

It didn’t help matters that Matt Daehler’s drowned corpse had been found in a nearby creek. Neither of them believed that this was the end of the matter. Alan was sure that the kanima had a new master. 

He didn’t tell Scott that Peter Hale had resurrected himself. He didn’t want the boy to collapse entirely. Alan put it on himself to keep an eye out for the older Hale.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

The March night outside the clinic was mild and clear, and the waning gibbous moon pulled itself lazily up over the horizon. If the city had not been filled with danger, it might have been pretty. Alan hit the button on his car fob which unlocked the door and turned on his headlights. The framed a figure standing in front of the car. 

“So you seem to have found yourself a replacement. Good for you.”

Alan froze. He turned slowly and put his keys in his pocket and while doing so took hold of the mountain ash packet there. “What do you want, Peter?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer, as I want a great many things. Right now, with you, I simply want to talk.”

“I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

“Oh, we do.” Peter flashed his glowing blue eyes at him and then stepped towards him. 

Sometimes the best course of action was to take no chances. Alan threw the ash into the air and it formed a perfect circle around him. 

“There’s no need for that, Doctor.”

Alan raised an eyebrow to show his disbelief.

“If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have let you know I was here.”

“Not if you wanted to be dramatic, Peter. Don’t forget that I know you better than almost anyone else in this town except maybe Derek, and I’m not sure he ever really knew you.” 

Peter raised his hands to admit defeat. 

“I have to applaud you on a certain level, Peter. Arranging for your own resurrection is a difficult achievement.” 

“Thank you. Of course, I had excellent motivation. I like living.”

“I’d be more complimentary, but it was too bad you had to achieve it by tormenting a young lady who had never done you or your family any harm whatsoever. I shouldn’t have been surprised, since you had already butchered your own niece for power. I guess hurting another innocent wasn’t really a stretch.”

“I was out of my—”

“ _Don’t._ Derek may be stupid enough to fall for your insanity defense, but I am most certainly not. I’ll grant that you were undoubtedly emotionally compromised, but you still knew right from wrong. You plotted you actions for months. You were able to formulate complicated plans based upon rational conclusions and drawing on empathy for others, like directing suspicion towards me and Melissa McCall in order to keep your enemies conflicted. In addition, you also prepared for your resurrection ahead of time. That’s a level of planning and execution that simply doesn’t fit with your claim that you didn’t know what you were doing.”

“Does it feel good to get that off your chest there, Alan?” Peter smirked and sauntered closer until he could have breathed on the mountain ash circle. “I guess righteous condemnation is probably like masturbation for you. A lot of effort for a momentary release, yet nothing left to show for it but a mess.”

“You’re crude.”

“And you’re useless.”

Alan simply stared at him.

“You were the Hale Family Emissary, and while I realize you might have had … ethical objections … to my reign as alpha, you seem to have spent your time since Derek’s seizure of the mantle coddling a sixteen-year-old moron instead of assuming your proper place.”

“You have your terminology confused, Peter. I was never the Hale Family Emissary; I was Talia’s Emissary. My place is where I decide it to be, as I’m a living person, not an asset to be inherited by an oldest child or a usurping alpha. I help whom I choose to help, as is my right.”

“Don’t you think that Derek needs more help than that snotty child?” 

“Yes, I do.”

Peter waited. “And?”

“I could explain, but I don’t have to justify my choices to you. Is that why you’re here? To recruit me to become Derek’s Emissary?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, but mostly, I’m curious as to why you haven’t taken that step already. You know how much Talia favored the boy, and I know how much you were devoted to her. I thought that her memory alone would be enough to get you in his corner.”

Alan scowled at him. “I promised that I would help all of Talia’s children, and I have, as much as I deemed prudent, and I don’t think it’s very wise for me to assist Derek more than I have.”

“I guess I didn’t realize you were that much of a judgmental prick.”

“Spare me.” He scoffed. “You know as well as I do the resources Derek has access to as Hale alpha and Talia’s sole remaining heir. I’m talking about the millions of dollars, numerous contacts among the supernatural and mundane communities, and a significant reputation to go with them. He could have gone anywhere in the world and lived more than comfortably. If he had indeed needed to fight, he could have hired enough mercenaries to outnumber the Argents five to one—”

“Mercenaries? Really?”

“Better than recruiting children. Yet, that’s what he did. Just like you, he decided the only way to get what he wanted was to ruin the lives of helpless teenagers. The only difference between the pair of you was that instead of forcing them, he simply lied to them.”

“I’m sure that … wait. Ahhh.” Peter nodded, satisfied. “You know that _they’re_ coming.”

“I do.”

“Well, what else was he going to do? Bargain with Deucalion?”

“There were any number of strategies beyond biting four teenagers that he could have employed. Considering that one of them turned into a murderous abomination, he definitely _should_ have employed them.” 

“You can’t blame Derek for the young Mr. Whittemore’s psychological problems.”

“I can blame him for biting a child out of spite, and I absolutely do. There’s a reason you sent Derek to murder Jackson Whittemore a few weeks ago.”

Peter shrugged. “The boy was an unstable narcissist. Your point is made; there was a reason I didn’t Bite him even though I needed the bodies. But you can’t expect Derek to understand the intricacies of choosing the most advantageous subject for a beta.”

“I can expect Derek to understand the tragic possibilities inherent in the Bite.” 

“You’re still mad about Paige.”

“You might not care for that dead girl, as you told me eight years ago, but to me, she was a human soul worthy of respect.” 

The former alpha held up one finger. “In any event, you can’t pin Derek’s poor choices on me. I was dead.” 

“You asked me why I haven’t become his Emissary, and I’m telling you. Have you talked to him yet?”

Peter licked his lips. “For some reason, I have a suspicion that it might not be an amicable meeting. I’ve decided to wait a couple of days and make sure I understand how much of my strength has actually returned.”

“You probably suspect, just as well as I do, that you will probably never recover your full Beta strength.” 

“Seems likely.”

“And you should probably know that I warned Derek not to trust you.”

The werewolf nodded enthusiastically. “Obviously. I’m glad that you haven’t completely abandoned him.”

Alan crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn’t going to let Peter bait him. 

“I actually had some news that I care to share with you and your new protégé, Alan. Important news.”

“And what would you want in return, Peter?”

Peter put a hand on his chest. “I’m doing this out of a spirit of altruism.”

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Believe me or not, it’s your choice whether you use this information. I know who the kanima’s new master is.”

Alan felt his heart seize up for a moment. At least it couldn’t be Peter himself; he would never reveal it until he was an alpha again. Revealing it at all would indicated that it was someone …

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes, my druidical friend. Gerard Argent has taken control of the kanima. I have a feeling this was his plan all along.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that.” Alan agreed but internally, he tried to work out why exactly Peter would be giving him this information freely. After all, the resurrected werewolf was not in a beneficial position with anyone. Even ethical hunters would have a reason to kill him, and Derek would be bother angry and suspicious, even if he needed all the help he could get.

_All the help he could get._

“You want me to tell Derek.” Alan shook his head. “You’re not sure how the new alpha will react to your presence. If I tell him that you told me the news about Gerard, he’ll be less likely to see it as a tactic and more as a … gesture of good will.”

“You can’t blame me for wanting to make sure that he doesn’t kill me. Again.”

“I don’t. Fair enough, Peter. I’ll contact him.” He hoped he didn’t regret that. “You can leave now.”

Alan didn’t bother to break the mountain ash line until he was sure that Peter had really left.

**~*~**

Scott turned from where he had been standing as he watched Isaac leave the clinic. Derek’s beta headed toward the bus stop.

“I guess I won’t see him again.”

“You never know for sure, Scott. What Derek’s betas are doing is very difficult. They may come back.”

“Maybe.” The boy walked past him and back into the back room. “Maybe it’s better for them not to come back.”

“Would you miss them?”

“I barely know them,” Scott replied. “But … it might have been nice to know some werewolves my own age.”

Alan went to the counter to finish his paperwork for the day. “I can see the appeal.”

“Stiles is my best friend. I don’t want another one. But … well … I have to be careful with him.” Scott pulled on the heavy mitts, getting ready to sterilize the equipment Alan had used today. 

Signing his name on a form, Alan didn’t look up. Scott would keep talking or he wouldn’t.

“It’s hard for him, I think. Things have changed so much in the last three months, and he blames himself, though he’s never said it out loud.”

“You told me it was his idea to go out into the woods.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s at fault for what Peter did!” Scott protested.

“I didn’t say it was, but I can see how he would think that it was.” 

Waving through a cloud of steam, Scott began to put the instruments into the tray. “We used to roughhouse a lot, you know. He always had to keep an eye on me though, because if we got carried away it could trigger an asthma attack. Now, we can’t do that. I’m so strong, and while I’m getting better at holding back, I’m still not good enough at it to play around with him without being so worried I’ll hurt him by accident that it’s not fun.”

The boy closed the lid and turned the knob on the sterilizer. “I miss it. I miss just being able to screw around and be a kid, you know. I keep thinking that …”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about hurting Isaac or Boyd.”

“No, I wouldn’t, but that’s not fair to Stiles. And all this stuff we’ve gone through, it’s so much harder on him.” 

Alan frowned. “How did you reach that conclusion?”

“All the stuff we’ve gone through, all the stuff we’re going through, it’s been about me.” Scott shrugged as if it were obvious. “Peter wanted me to help him get his revenge. I’m the one who decided that I couldn’t ignore what was going on between Derek and the Argents.”

“From what it looks like, Stiles made his own decision to work with you. You didn’t force him, did you?”

“It’s not that simple, and you know it. He’d never abandon me.”

Alan wasn’t too sure about that, but his doubt must have shown on his face.

“Sticking with me doesn’t mean that he’ll never doubt me. It doesn’t mean that he won’t get mad or even hurt me. He got me beat up once.” Scott chuckled and told the story of Stiles ‘training.’ 

“You weren’t responsible for a cougar appearing in the high school parking lot. It was probably driven out of the Preserve by Peter’s presence.” Alan didn’t find it nearly as amusing as Scott did. “You weren’t responsible for his father getting hurt.” 

Scott brushed it off. “My point is that even when he’s furious at me, he’s always there. And his father got hurt again because of me.”

“Matt Daehler hurt the Sheriff, not you.” 

“Matt Daehler couldn’t have hurt anyone if I hadn’t insisted on playing lacrosse to the point where Jackson got jealous.”

Alan stared at him.

“You’re looking at me like you do when I forget and leave the cat room door open.” 

“Scott, do you know the phrase _post hoc, ergo propter hoc?_ ”

“Yeah!” Scott nodded. “Stiles made me watch _The West Wing._ It means ‘after this, therefore because of this,’ right?”

“And do you know how it applies to this situation?” 

The boy shrugged.

“It describes a logical fallacy: simply because an event happened after another event doesn’t mean the first event caused the second. Everyone makes decisions based on the world as they find it every day.” 

“Don’t you blame Derek for the kanima?” Scott asked, a little rebelliously.

“How did you know that?”

“You … you smell different when you talk about it.”

Alan chuckled. “I do, but I think that’s different.”

“Is it? Derek didn’t plan to turn Jackson into that thing.”

“No. But there is a very large difference between you wanting to protect yourself and others and Derek exposing others to danger. You were already on the lacrosse team when you were Bit against your will. I would have a completely different opinion if you had sought out the Bite in order to make first line. You shouldn’t have had to give up what you worked for because Peter tried to use you.” Alan saw Scott’s shoulders relax a little. “On the other hand, Derek wasn’t forced to Bite Jackson. He knew who Jackson was and, from what you told me about what he said in the Hale House, he had an idea of Jackson’s temperament. He may not have been able to predict how badly the Bite would go, but Derek is fully aware of the responsibility that comes with what he did.”

“The Bite is a gift,” Scott muttered.

“Stiles had no more knowledge of Peter’s plan in those woods than you did. The worst he probably imagined is that you might get caught by the sheriff and grounded, but you knew that was a risk as well, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I wish I had gotten grounded instead.”

“I’m sure you do. As for the Sheriff getting hurt in the parking lot, you couldn’t have possibly known about the cougar’s appearance any more than Stiles or the Sheriff did. Correct?”

“No, I didn’t.” 

“You can’t be responsible for something you didn’t know could happen. Did you choose not to help the Sheriff?”

“No! I was on the other side of the parking lot.”

Alan nodded. “On the other hand, you were mad at Derek for biting Isaac, Erica, and Boyd.”

“Because he had just listened to Gerard declare war and renounce their Code in the woods! Oh.” Scott nodded, catching his point. “Okay.”

“Does Stiles know he could get hurt?”

Scott looked away. “Yes, but …”

“Did you know that Stiles would endure emotional trauma and you didn’t care?”

The boy was silent.

“Did you not also endure physical pain and emotional trauma?” Alan continued, trying to persuade with logic. “I think I can answer that one.”

“Yeah.”

“It is a fact that Stiles cannot heal as you do. However, he is also not hunted for being what he is. At any time, he could take a step back, wash his hands of the supernatural, and live a completely normal and relatively safe life.”

“Stiles would never do that!”

“Then respect his decision. It’s the least you can do.”

“I do!”

“Respecting his decision includes not dismissing your own physical pain and emotional upheaval in order to focus on his. Exaggerating the threat to him so you don’t have to think about the threats to yourself is dishonest.”

Scott looked ashamed. “I … I see what you mean.”

Alan nodded, smiling to himself. He was glad he could make that point. He’d heard about more than one person, especially alphas, who focused so entirely on other’s pain and suffering that they neglected their own until it became a problem. 

His assistant lifted the sterilized equipment out of the machine and set them on the counter so they could cool down. Scott pulled off the mitts and donned sterile gloves in order to put them back where they needed to be. It took patience and care to do the task right, or all the effort he had just gone through would be wasted.

“I know the truth.”

Alan looked up at Scott’s plaintive statement.

The boy looked over at him. “You were talking about how what we know makes us responsible.”

“I was.”

“I’m lying to Derek. I told him that I would join his pack, but I haven’t really done that. I haven’t told him I’m feeding information to Gerard.” Scott leaned on the counter to support himself. “I don’t know for sure that Derek would make things worse. I _think_ he would, but I don’t know.” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m lying to Gerard. I’m feeding him information, but other than telling him that Matt was the one controlling Jackson, none of it has been useful or what he wanted, so he had Jackson strangle my mom. I know he’s ruthless and he’s willing to hurt anyone. I don’t know when he plans to make his final move. What if he figures out I switched his pills? What if he kills my mom?”

Alan put his work down and came over to where Scott was leaning. 

“Why do I think I know better than Derek? Why do I think I can fool Gerard?”

“Scott, when faced with a problem such as you have, it’s important to consider your final goal. Why are you doing this?”

Scott looked up at him. 

“I know why, but I want you to say it.”

“They’re going to kill people. Gerard’s going to use Jackson to find a way to force Derek to Bite him, and then he’s going to kill Derek and anyone else who gets in his way. Derek has no idea how to stop Jackson and he still has no idea how to stop Gerard, but he won’t listen to anyone. Every time Derek’s been in a difficult position, he’s insisted that killing is his only option.”

Deaton nodded. “When you have a problem, any solution has two parts: the means and the ends. They are both equally important, so they must be _balanced._ If you allow ends to justify the means … well, that’s how Peter operates. But if you go to the opposite extreme, if there are means you just won’t employ, you can often jeopardize the ends. Who cares if you never lied to anyone if they’re all dead?”

“It’s so difficult …”

“Yes.” Alan put his hand on Scott’s shoulder to comfort him. “It is difficult. Too many people think doing the right thing is easy. They think that because the general public scorns murder and selfishness, that those things are hard to do. They’re not. If hurting anyone who gets in your way to get what you wanted was hard, we probably wouldn’t need rules against it.”

“How do I know that I’m not going too far?”

“Like most things worth doing, it takes practice. But asking that question is _always_ the first step. Now, let’s put those things away, so we can go home.”

**~*~**

“Whoever said I was retired?”

Alan smirked at his sister and then turned to follow the trail of black blood. Gerard had a clear destination in mind when he left the warehouse, because while the trail wavered back and forth, it didn’t deviate from a general direction. It made sense that a superb strategist would have an escape route prepared.

“I’m surprised he got away,” Marin observed. “I’m surprised he’s still alive.”

“Gerard is many things, but he is not weak of will. Which is why we have to find him.”

They followed the trail down the street and then into an alley. It twisted and turned to keep its path clear of any of the main thoroughfares. It also passed by an older automotive body shop. Even with his normal human nose, the scent of paint and thinner was nearly overwhelming.

“Clever,” Marin remarked.

Yet, the trail of black ooze couldn’t had been and finally they their destination: a second-hand gun store. Alan and his sister looked at each other. It was marked as closed, but the trail clearly entered the building. 

“I wanted to examine him before calling his son.”

Marin studied the door, putting her hand on the window. “Yeah. Keep watch.” She pulled a set of lock picks from her jacket. “He didn’t set the alarm.”

“Where did you learn how to do this?”

She winked at him. “You didn’t?” She knelt at the door and got to work. 

Alan tried to look as non-threatening as possible while amusedly aware of the irony of the visuals. He would give Marin five minutes and then he would call. He glanced down at his phone. 

“Done.”

With amazement, he turned around sharply. “Marin, you’re scaring me a little.”

“Not all of us served packs who lived in small town California with a house in the woods and an animal clinic. Not all of us could sit back and not get our hands dirty.”

“You know as well as I do that my hands have been dirty many times.”

She snorted as they entered the store. It resembled every similar establishment Alan had ever seen on television. Reinforced display cases and heavy grated storage units. The shelves had many different kinds of ammunition, very little of them used for mundane hunting. 

The trail of oily blood went into the back room. 

Gerard lay there in his own filth, half unconscious. He did rouse when they come back him, and it took him a moment to recognize who they were. Alan knelt down to take his vital signs.

“Get your hands off me.”

“I’m simply checking on your condition.”

The old man’s palsied hand reached for a nearby pistol, but Alan moved it quickly out of his reach.

“Here to finish me off?”

Alan didn’t find that question worthy of an answer. He continued on with a thorough examination. The man was in terrible shape, but he didn’t look like he was going to die immediately. As his best evaluation, it looked like the mountain ash infusion had caused the Bite to glitch, with Gerard stuck in the middle of turning from human to werewolf, perpetually trying to transform but never succeeding.

“This is your doing,” Gerard spat oily black fluid at him.

“One could say that this is _your_ own doing, Mr. Argent. You betrayed your family and your Code for your own survival, but you underestimated the resolve of the people whom you tried to manipulate.”

“I was talking …” The weak hunter coughed. “I was talking about the mountain ash. It’s just wood dust without a will behind it, and for all of Scott McCall’s surprising qualities, even he can’t use mountain ash. You can.”

“Did you think I was going to let you murder the son of Talia Hale?” Alan asked as kindly as he could. 

“Heh. Heh-heh. As a matter of fact, I did.” Even enfeebled, Gerard managed a nasty, black-stained grinned. “If I thought that there was one thing I could count on … it is your … failure to act.”

“All right,” Marin stepped forward and plunged a hypodermic needle that Alan hadn’t had known she had on her into Gerard’s arm. “Time for you to sleep now.”

“Marin, what is that?”

“A sedative. I’ve no interest in listening to him try to justify his actions.” She stood up and slid the needle back into her jacket pocket. 

“That was very dangerous. He is very weak. A sedative could kill him.”

“Oh.” She blinked innocently as if she hadn’t known it was a possibility. “Damn.”

Alan bent down and checked the man’s pulse again. His heart still beat. Gerard was a tough old bastard. “Do you understand the possible consequences of an Emissary killing one of the leaders of the world’s most prestigious hunting family?” 

“As a matter of fact I do, Alan. It’s a risk, but I also understand the risk of letting him keep breathing. If you don’t want to kill him yourself, then all you have to do is leave him here with me. I’m sure my alpha would like some personal time with him.”

He took out the phone. “Allowing Chris Argent to handle his father strengthens Chris’s hand, and in return, strengthens Allison’s when she takes the position of Matriarch. We want people in charge who believe in the Code.”

“Allison Argent?”

“She’ll be stronger when she realizes she was manipulated by her emotions,” Alan said confidently, and he meant it. “But even without the politics, we wouldn’t do it.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t do it.”

“We’re not killers, Marin. Our philosophy doesn’t empower us to judge others worthy of life and death.”

“Our calling, however, requires us to do it, from time to time.”

He chose not to answer her, instead, dialing Chris Argent’s number. Argent answered and succinctly, Alan told him where he could find his father, and that he should move quickly in order to protect him from his enemies.

“He should be here in a few minutes.”

Marin regarded him sourly. 

“I’m not sorry. It’s not my—”

“If you say it’s not your responsibility, I’m going to slug you right in the jaw,” she snapped. “I’m not saying it’s your responsibility, your obligation, or your duty. You really cling to this parade of excuses for why you can’t act.”

Alan frowned back at her. “They’re not a parade of excuses. They’re these things called boundaries, which help society function. That means I don’t get to do whatever I want. No one should, and if people try, that’s what makes individual into monsters like Deucalion and Peter and this … hate-riddled freak who destroy other people’s lives.”

“Boundaries can also be crossed. All three of those men have done so, repeatedly, to the harm of others. You don’t think that maybe someone who wants to protect others should be able to do the same in order to stop them?”

“How many times has that reasoning in the history of humankind allowed protectors to turn into abusers? How many times has crossing those boundaries for the greater good pushed well-meaning revolutionaries to blood-soaked zealotry.”

“About the same number of times ‘not going too far’ has been used to justify oppression, Alan.” Marin sighed. “I’m not saying you have to do what I think is best, but I do want you to consider that maybe you have built yourself a very comfortable life here by drawing some pretty confining lines and refusing to step over them.”

“You’re not the first person to say something like that to me. Strangely enough, they always want me to do something terrible with little benefit in it for anyone but themselves.” 

He walked out of the back room where Gerard lay and went out into the main area, waiting for Argent to arrive. He left Marin alone with Gerard as an apology. He did have a comfortable life here, and she was out there risking her life and more to minimize the damage of a monstrous fanatic. He wanted her to know he still trusted her.

Eventually she came out of the room and stood a little ways behind him. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head.

“Is there something you want to say, Marin?”

“I was thinking of offering you a psychologist’s perspective.”

“Unnecessary, but I doubt you were asking me if I was interested in hearing it.” 

She chuckled. “Not really. I think that you’re still having trouble coping with what happened.”

He turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re still experiencing guilt for the death of the Hale family. For the death of Talia. And I think it’s been compounded by the death of Laura.”

Alan gritted his teeth. “It’s taken me many years, but I understand that the Hale fire was not my fault. It won’t take that long to understand that Peter’s murder of Laura was also not my fault.”

“Of course, it wasn’t your fault. That’s the problem.” Marin’s voice took on the same tone it must take when she counseled others.

“I don’t quite follow you.”

“You didn’t become an Emissary to bury your charges. You didn’t spend years learning all the things we have to learn to watch an entire legacy corrode into chaos and murder. You wanted to help.”

He didn’t answer, but he clasped his hands behind him so she wouldn’t see them trembling.

“And that’s the problem. You did everything right. You helped the Hales to the best of your ability with the best advice you could give them. Talia sang your praises to Deucalion and to Ennis and to Kali, talking about how much she could trust your perception and your discretion. You even helped teach Laura Hale to assume the full shift before she was thirty! You were the perfect Emissary.”

Alan didn’t trust himself to answer.

“And in the end, that perfection didn’t manage to preserve … well, much of anything really. Derek’s an incompetent failure, Peter’s a monster, Laura’s a murder victim, and the rest of the family are _ashes._ ”

When he could make air move through his throat again, he managed to choke out. “I suspect you must have a point somewhere.”

“All the work you did meant nothing. It would have been easier for you if you had screwed up, if you had been the reason they all died, because then you would have been more than just a … witness. It must be unbearable to realize how little your presence affected the outcome.”

Alan couldn’t argue with her. He had been pushing the truth away, denying it, lying about it, but what she said was true. He had done as little as possible, not out of laziness, but out of fear. Fear of the same tragedy befalling him. 

“You don’t want to feel that way again, so you have refused to commit. You hide behind boundaries and behind keeping secrets and behind preserving the relationships you value already, but you will not commit to doing anything more than the minimum. It’s a defense mechanism, and I understand it. But it doesn’t help these teenagers one bit.”

Marin walked past him and out into the street, without looking back. Alan could do nothing but watch her go.


	8. First Week of May, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the story diverges from canon completely.

They came for him through Isaac. 

“Good afternoon. I’m afraid that Scott’s not here. He took today off to study for one of his final exams. Economics, I think.”

“Uh.” Isaac looked at anywhere but Alan’s face. “I’m here to see you.”

“Oh? What can I do for you?”

He started and then stopped, as if unsure how to go on. “Do you hate Derek?”

Alan suppressed the urge to smile. It was a very high-school thing to ask. “I don’t know why you would think that. I haven’t done anything to Derek.”

“Uh. You seem to be very close to Scott, and he hates Derek.”

“I don’t think that’s true.” He opened the gate for the boy. “If you want to talk about it, why don’t we step in the back? We’re not liable to get interrupted there. I can assure you that you’re perfectly safe.”

Alan walked into the back room first to show Isaac how true that was. Scott had described how Isaac had been initially very violent, had tried to kill Lydia Martin, and had physically attacked Scott, Stiles, and Allison. Alan thought that maybe things had changed, especially since it seemed like Isaac had stayed for Scott when Boyd and Erica had decided to flee.

“So.” Isaac started again. “You told Scott to lie to Derek.”

“Actually, I didn’t, Isaac. Scott deceived Derek due to his own judgment on the situation.”

The boy frowned and, once more, refused to look him in the face.

“I gave him advice and helped him switch out Gerard’s pills with fake pills filled with mountain ash. I did not, however, advise him to lie to Derek. He had already made up his mind to pretend to join your pack in order to save Jackson’s life and keep Gerard from hurting his loved ones.”

“Did he ask you about it?”

“He did. I neither approved nor disapproved of his idea. I simply presented possible consequences and allowed him to decide.” 

Isaac frowned deepened. “Why did he do it?”

“Why did Erica and Boyd choose to abandon Derek?”

Isaac looked up at that. “They didn’t hate him!”

“And Scott doesn’t hate Derek either. He simply doesn’t trust Derek. I’ll leave it up to you whether that was the right call or not.”

Isaac looked up at that. “They were captured.”

“I heard. I also heard that Mr. Argent let them go.”

“They …” He hesitated. “Look, Derek wants to talk to you about what happened to them.” 

Alan crossed his arms. “Derek can come and talk to me whenever he wants. Honestly, it’s very disappointing that he didn’t come himself.”

“He didn’t know if you’d welcome him.”

“I see. Please tell him that I’d be more than happy to talk to him. Is he nearby?” 

“Uh. Yeah.” Isaac blushed in embarrassment. “He said … just in case.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

As Isaac turned and left the clinic, Alan sighed audibly. He was fully aware of why Isaac’s subterfuge had been deemed necessary. He had given Derek two bits of advice, and obviously Derek had listened to neither of them. Peter would certainly work towards creating a barrier between Derek and Alan. It seemed he had succeeded.

Alan went back to work, keeping busy until Derek and Isaac arrived. Derek kept his posture straight and his face as neutral as he could make it.

“Derek.”

“Dr. Deaton.” He nodded. “Thank you for talking to me.”

Isaac looked like he would want to be anywhere else. 

“You could have just called.” 

“I wasn’t sure you would talk to me.”

Alan glanced toward Isaac. “I was willing to talk to Peter after his resurrection. Why wouldn’t I be willing to talk to you?”

“What I need from you was too important for me to risk it.”

“So, if I had said no, you would have used Isaac to get the information you needed.”

Derek didn’t answer, which was as good as answering. 

“While I certainly applaud your resourcefulness, I feel it is my duty to point out that your inability to trust others is exactly what put you into this position in the first place.”

“I trusted Scott on your advice.”

“Yes. And you’re still alive, aren’t you?” Alan replied a little sharper than he should have. “You know as well as I do that if Scott had really sought your overthrow, or even your destruction, he could have arranged it.”

“He could have? Or you could have?”

Alan clapped his hands together in irritation. “We can have this discussion in front of your beta, or we can have it privately. The choice is yours.”

Derek jaw muscle twitched. “Isaac, go wait in the car.”

“Uh, Derek …”

The alpha lifted one eyebrow. 

“Right. Car.” The boy disappeared out the front.

“Derek, if I wanted to hurt you, there are any number of ways I could have done so, especially when I came upon your unconscious form in the Hale House. I tell you now what I told you then. Helping you was a promise I made to Talia.” 

“You call what you did help?”

“Absolutely. I saw that Scott’s plan to trick Gerard had the best chance at stopping him, and that became doubly true after I learned that Gerard had taken control of Jackson. I urged you to trust Scott because I knew that he had every intention of making sure you and your betas got through this alive. If you behaved as if Scott was truly in your pack, and you did, it would help convince Gerard that he had the upper hand, as it did.” 

Derek look torn for a moment. “And you couldn’t have simply told me the truth?”

“Scott didn’t trust you.”

“I meant _you._ ”

Alan chuffed. “No. I didn’t trust you either.”

“Didn’t? Or don’t?”

“What do you want me to say, Derek? That I should have overlooked your behavior towards me and towards these children?”

“I did what I thought was best for everyone.” 

“No, Derek. You did what you thought was best for _you._ You simply lied to yourself that it was the best thing for everyone.” Alan couldn’t keep the anger out of his voice. “I could spend some time explaining all the terrible things that happened because of your poor decisions, but in the end, you’re free, alive, and you still possess the red eyes of a Hale alpha, so why don’t we move past that?” 

Derek and he stared at each other until finally they mutually broke it off.

“We can talk about my failures as an alpha another time. There is something more important that we need to talk about.”

“The Alpha Pack.”

The alpha took a deep breath, like a person about to stick their hand into the fire. “I think they have Boyd and Erica.”

“Oh, _Derek._ ”

Speaking through his gritted teeth, Derek let impatience creep through. “I know how dangerous the situation is.”

“I don’t think you do. Unless Laura told you, I don’t think that you are aware of the regard that Deucalion had for your mother, and that was when he was a much better person than he is presently. He will try to get you to do something terrible to them.” 

“Is it true?” Derek asked. “I heard that he makes an alpha kill their own pack so they can be free to join his.”

“Derek, I’m quite sure you’ve heard the same stories I have. Every single time, it’s the same. An alpha kills his betas or the pack itself is destroyed.”

After a moment, Derek crumbled, fully realizing what he had done. “I thought if I was strong enough, he would go somewhere else.”

“Deucalion has gone through at least a dozen packs, strong ones, weak ones, it didn’t matter. If there’s an alpha that catches his eye, he will do whatever he needs to in order to force the alpha to obey him. If you’re right, and he has Boyd and Erica, you’re already in a great deal of trouble.”

“So, what do you think I should do?”

“Do?” Alan looked around the room, helplessly. He had planned to suggest, if Derek had come to him, that Derek simply leave with the wealth he knew he possessed, taking Isaac with him. Logistical impossibilities could thwart the Alpha Pack. But now? Derek couldn’t possibly leave his betas in the Demon Wolf’s clutches. 

His ultimate answer was easier than Alan had imagined. “First, get rid of Peter.”

“He’s family.”

“He’s an opportunist, Derek. Even if he’s helpful, which he can be, even if you are hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned, which you are, Peter will always, always, _always_ look for a way to profit personally in any situation.”

“I can’t. I can’t do that to him.”

“Yes, you can, and yes, you should. It’s laudable to not want to cut off a family member, but he has demonstrated a willingness to betray family ties in order to insure he gets what he wants. You have to know by now that was exactly why he killed Laura.”

It looked for a moment that Derek was going to shout at him. A nameless emotion welled up in the alpha’s eyes, but he forced it down. “That’s out of the question, Doctor. He has a place here, and as you say, he can be helpful.” 

Alan opened his mouth to debate the alpha but then he closed it again, habit overwhelming his urge to reach Derek. An Emissary offered advice, but they didn’t push it. They accepted the alpha’s decision. He tried to push through his resistance, arguing with himself that he wasn’t Derek’s Emissary, but the urge to relent was too great.

“If it has to be that way, then it has to be that way. Then the only other advice I can give you is that your pack must work together as efficiently as possible, so you can’t hide your thoughts and your feelings from them. You must do this even with Peter, if you insist on having him with you. Deucalion will find every weakness, and he will exploit them, and your most glaring vulnerability has always been your failure to trust.”

“Should I trust you?” Derek challenged.

Deaton kept his face carefully neutral. “I have given you what I believe to be the best advice possible. I have aided you when you were hurt, and I have worked against your enemies. But there are things I know that I have no intention of telling you at the present time, for my own reasons. That will have to do for now.”

“It will have to do,” the alpha confirmed. “For now.”

**~*~**

This was the second time this year that Alan had had to rush into work in response to an alarm. Considering the last time he had found both a corpse and a creepy Chris Argent, he decided to be far more careful this time. He had one hand on his ASP telescoping baton as he came in, and he moved far more silently than the first time.

There was no sign of anyone breaking in, and the alarm was silent. He had moved it to that setting after the last time. Once he was in, he reset the alarm. The lights were on, and there was noise coming from the back room. He took the baton out of his pocket and turned the corner …

Only to find Stiles Stilinski trying to pick the lock on the door to his office, though he wasn’t having any luck. Alan cleared his throat. 

“Oh. Hi.”

“Stiles, is there a particular reason that you broke into my clinic?”

Stiles raised a finger. “Technically, I didn’t break in. I have a key.” 

“How do you have a key?”

“I made a copy from the key you gave Scott.”

Alan sighed. “And does Scott know that you made a copy of it?”

“Well, if he doesn’t know for sure, he should have guessed that I would.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “How did you know I was here? Do you have some sort of scrying spell up?”

“It’s called an alarm system.”

“That’s impossible! I …” The boy snapped his mouth shut. 

“You have the code. I assume you looked over Scott’s shoulder.”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Alan move to the alarm box and cleared it. “You got one of the numbers wrong, and no, I’m not telling you the correct code. What I’d like is if you told me what was so important that you would break—”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest.

“Okay, _enter_ my place of business while it is closed.”

“I wanted something, and I didn’t …” Stiles stumbled over the words. “I wanted to get more of that mountain ash.”

“Any particular reason why?”

Stiles looked down to his shoes, but it wasn’t enough for Alan to miss the wheels turning around in the teen’s head. He was trying to determine how much he would be able to say. Alan remained patient.

“Look, you’re human, right?”

“I am.”

“Yet, you don’t seem to be intimidated by werewolves.” Stiles looked up and into his eyes. “Scott told me how you stood up to Peter for him. You don’t seem … out of place.” 

Alan nodded. “And by out of place, you mean that I don’t seem to be vulnerable as you are no doubt feeling right now. You’ve had a rough couple of months.”

“I’m not asking for pity.”

“That’s a good thing, because I seem to be fresh out. The truth is that you were menaced and kidnapped by Peter, physically punished and kidnapped by Derek, threatened and forced to watch your father hurt by Matt, and kidnapped and beaten by Gerard all since Scott was bitten.”

“When I created that barrier at the rave, it felt … you told me I should be the spark.”

“It was an analogy, Stiles. You are as human as me or your father or Scott’s mother. But being human isn’t a weakness. Every human is capable of doing things like that through the power of their own will.”

“It certainly feels like a weakness, compared with super strength or claws or rapid healing.”

Alan glanced down at his hands. “I know that they’re not your favorite family at this particular moment, and that’s completely understandable, but the Argents are human, and there are many of the individuals you just described who are terribly afraid of them.”

“Well, they have traditions and training and resources, but I don’t want to do what they do.” Stiles argued. “I just want … hey. Hey!”

 _Oh no,_ Alan thought to himself.

“You can train me.” 

He decided to show Stiles that the boy wasn’t the only person who could deflect. “To be a hunter?”

“No. To do what you do.”

“To be a veterinarian?”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?” Stiles face screwed up in frustration. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The things you know about werewolves and kanimas. Your connection to the Hale family.”

Alan turned away and went to his office, leaving an eager Stiles to wait outside. He needed time to think about how he was going to answer that, so retrieved some mountain ash, stored conveniently in a flour sack. Returning, he handed the bag to Stiles. “There you go. I know you know how to use it.”

Stiles took the bag and looked at him. “So?”

“I’m afraid I can’t teach you, Stiles.”

“Can’t?” The boy challenged him once again. “Or won’t?”

“I have my reasons, Stiles.”

“Well, that’s bullshit, but it’s par for the course, isn’t it? You could have helped Scott and Derek a lot more than you could have, but I guess you had your reasons for that, too?”

Alan narrowed his eyes. “Very well. I have three reasons for why I can’t and won’t teach you.” 

Stiles gestured. “Ain’t getting any younger.”

“The first is that I don’t believe you have the temperament appropriate to the undertaking.” 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Alan gestured to indicate Stiles’s attitude. “For example, you have no patience. This virtue was drilled into me as essential in any attempt to follow this path. I also started training when I was young, younger than you are now. The things you would have to learn require a lot of diligent study of basic lore in order for a proper foundation to be laid.”

“Is it my fault like to skip ahead to the interesting parts?” Stiles meant it as a joke, but he saw that Alan did not take it like that. “Hey, I’m not dumb.”

“I never said you were. You are undoubtedly clever and perceptive. I suspect that, while you were going for humor, you would indeed have to fight not to take the very short cuts that would prove to be dangerous. There are many forms of intelligence, Stiles, and I think that in certain areas you’re quite gifted. Focus isn’t one of them.”

“Hey, it’s part of the benefits of having ADHD.”

“And I am sure that also exacerbates your insecurity and your emotional volatility, but those three things together are what make me doubt you would be able to complete your training even if I undertook to teach you.”

Stiles looked a little offended.

“The path we are talking about is not like a course in economics. You can’t simply leave it on your desk for later when you have other things to do. It is a philosophy and a way of life. It does not often come with emotional satisfaction, and the practice of restraint is an absolute necessity.”

“You really know how to compliment a guy.”

“I do, actually, but we’re speaking the truth now. Remember when I began to explain to you about how to use the mountain ash? Your immediate response was a request to — how did you put it? — find something a little less pressure-filled for you.” 

“Hey. It was a life or death situation, and I’m …” Stiles frowned. “I still did it.”

“Tell me Stiles, when you thought you had run out of ash, did you figure out a way around it? Or did you blow up Scott’s phone with demands for instructions and support?”

Stiles pouted. “You heard that, did you?”

“Yes, I did. What you’re asking me to teach you isn’t going to be an effective way to reassert control over your life, make you feel safe, or even reassure yourself that you can keep up with others.”

“Well, none of those things are true now, anyway. What’s the second reason?”

Alan hesitated. This was even a larger minefield, because anything he said to Stiles now would absolutely get back to Scott, and he had truly wanted Scott to have a few weeks to recuperate as a normal teenager before the oncoming threat of the Alpha Pack appeared on his doorstep. He had to choose his words very carefully.

“It would be dangerous to teach you.” 

As he said, Stiles was both quick and perceptive. “Dangerous? To teach me? How do you figure? What do you know that I don’t? You seemed to have got through it without a scratch.”

“Need I remind you of the time that Derek assaulted me, kidnapped me, and threw me in the back of his car?” 

“That was a long time ago!”

“It was late January. Four months ago.”

Stiles flailed in impatience. “You’re not talking about the past, though, are you? You’re talking about the present. Or the future. What’s going on?”

“There are a great many things going on, Stiles. Derek is a very new alpha who has trouble in his own pack. Two of his betas are missing. Jackson must recover from being used to kill others. Peter undoubtedly has a plan to profit from all this chaos. Gerard may be neutralized —”

“He didn’t die?” Stiles swallowed and his skin went pale. 

“No. He is quite alive. There are many things that might happen in the coming months.”

“What has that to do with me?”

It was Alan’s turn to look away. “There is a distinct possibility that Derek will come to view Scott as a threat.”

Stiles burst out laughing. “Scott?” The guffaw died on his lips. “Oh, my God, you’re serious. Scott isn’t a threat to Derek!” 

“Sometimes perception is more important than reality.” _And,_ Alan thought sourly, _Deucalion might use that possible rift as a means to manipulate both Derek and Scott._ “So you see, taking you under my wing, as it were, might be seen as …”

“Scott increasing his power.” Stiles smirked. “Werewolves are stupid. I’m sure Scott will wait to plan his next nefarious move until he starts summer school.” 

“It is what it is, Stiles.”

Stiles thought about it for a moment and then he shook his head. “So. Third reason.”

“I must admit, the third reason is the least convincing, and one you shouldn’t worry about.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?”

“The third reason is simple.” Alan sighed, but they were speaking truth. “I don’t like you that much.”

Stiles’s face crumpled as if there were a physical blow.

“I don’t like how you treat me, and I certainly don’t like how you treat Scott. I don’t think I’d enjoy teaching you.”

“Well … okay.” Stiles tried to keep it together. “I don’t know why …”

“Stiles. Just tonight you broke into my clinic with a key you made by duplicating a key I entrusted to someone else. You poached my alarm code, and you were trying to steal from my supply of mountain ash.”

Stiles tossed the sack to the table. “If it means that much …”

“No. The mountain ash doesn’t mean that much. Just like the way you punished Scott for supposedly letting your father get hurt or the way you wrote Scott’s name on a dog dish doesn’t meant that much, by themselves. But they do add up.”

“I love Scott!” Stiles protested. 

“I know you do. You probably love him more than is healthy for you. But you don’t respect him. You don’t respect your father. I would guess you don’t respect anyone, and you certainly don’t respect me. If something about us prevents you from doing what you think is best, then what we think and feel are simply obstacles for you to overcome. I don’t think I can teach someone who wouldn’t take any boundary I set seriously.”

“You’re wrong.” The boy snapped at him. “You’re wrong about me.” 

“I don’t think I am, but let me put you to the test. You’ve heard my reasoning, but I’ll give you a chance to prove me wrong. One year from this day, come back and ask me again and I will say yes. During that time, don’t try to manipulate me into changing my mind earlier and don’t try to trick me or work around me, and I will admit that I was wrong.”

“A year?” 

“Yes, Stiles. One year. Do we have a deal?”

Stiles nodded sharply and then left quickly. The sad part was, Alan didn’t think he would have to worry about losing.

**~*~**

The wind was high that night, and when it gusted, the burnt remains of the Hale House shook like an orphan freezing to death in a cold alley. Stiles had complained more than once about meeting in a death trap, but no one had paid him any mind.

On one side, there was Derek, flanked by Peter and a very unhappy looking Isaac. On the other, there was Scott, flanked by Alan and a very nervous Stiles. Jackson stood over by what used to be the bannister, by himself.

“We’re here,” Scott said, finally. “You said it was really important. What’s happening?”

Alan assumed that Derek was about to tell those teenagers who didn’t know already about the Alpha Pack. 

“We need to talk about your status as omegas.”

The corner of Peter’s lip twisted up slightly, and Alan glanced sharply at him and braced himself for some mischief.

“If this is about being in your pack, Derek, I think I made it pretty clear,” Scott sighed. “I’ll help you out when you need it, but I’m certainly not going to put myself under your command.”

“What he said,” Jackson added, though much more subdued than he would have previously. “Thanks for helping me learn to control myself, but … just no.”

Derek glowered and took a deep breath. “Then you’ll have to leave.”

“Okay,” Scott said and turned to leave. Stiles grabbed him by the shirt. “What?”

“I don’t think he just meant leave the house. I think he means leave Beacon Hills?”

Scott turned to Derek, questioning, and Derek nodded once.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Jackson demanded. 

“I’m not. Right now there’s too much at risk to allow two omegas in my territory. You have to submit, or you have to leave.”

Peter couldn’t keep the smirk of his face, and he was looking straight at Alan. The bastard had twisted Alan’s advice to Derek to get his pack in order into this.

With a grunt, he crossed his arms in irritation. “If I had known the purpose of this meeting ahead of time, I would not have suggested it be done here. What you are proposing is both unethical and unprecedented.”

Peter mugged at him from his spot near the old curios cabinet, but he was smart enough not to press the issue by saying anything.

Derek came to rest in front of Alan, with that same aggressive pose he took whenever he convinced himself that he had to do something terrible. He had taken it when he explained his decision to kill Lydia. He had taken it when he had decided to kill Jackson. Alan frowned at the display, because as much as Derek like to believe, an attitude wasn’t an actual solution to a problem. 

“My mother would not let an omega remain a threat on her territory,” Derek directly to his face. “You, of all people, would know that.”

“What I know is that Talia didn’t have a territory.”

Peter clucked his tongue. “She considered Beacon Hills under her protection.”

“Those two concepts are not the same. Even if she used the word territory, you both know that she did not expel every non-pack werewolf from her jurisdiction. The Primal and the Ito Pack both reside within Beacon County, and I know several members of each who own homes and hold jobs within Beacon Hills’ city limits. The custom you are claiming to uphold may exist elsewhere, but it did not exist for her.”

Derek gritted his teeth in the way he always did when someone defied him. 

“It’s really hard to protect something that isn’t defined,” Peter responded, smoothly. “Regardless of the presence of other packs, Talia did claim jurisdiction within a certain geographic area. Even if she didn’t use the term territory, it still existed. Everyone knows that omegas are by nature unstable and dangerous.”

“That is also untrue.” 

Derek growled softly. “I’ve heard many stories of dangerous omegas.”

“I have as well, but I feel the need to suggest that being an omega is not what made them dangerous.”

While Scott had been stunned by Derek’s demand, he still had the presence of mind to mutter, “ _Post hoc, ergo propter hoc._ ”

Stiles translated for Isaac, who looked lost. “After this, therefore because of this.”

“You are starting from a fallacy, Derek. Becoming an omega does not make you unstable. In fact, it is instability that tends to create an omega. It takes something significant for a werewolf to leave its pack, so the vast majority of lone wolves were already facing significant difficulty.”

“Mr. Argent implied that they’re dangerous,” Isaac offered from the back. At Scott’s and Jackson’s glares, he looked sheepish. 

“The Argent’s point of view is tainted by their praxis. If an omega is a stable part of society, which an omega with a strong enough will and a suitable anchor can certainly be, then the Argents would seldom have a reason to even become aware of their existence. Their views on omegas are hardly objective.” 

“As can be said about you, when it comes to this specific omega,” Peter lilted from the other side of the room.

“My views on Scott McCall are as objective as yours, Peter, which I’m sure was taken into account when you were very persuasively pitching this course of action to Derek.”

Peter grinned at him.

“I’m doing this because I have to.” Derek stated loudly. “What Peter said or did not say is irrelevant.”

Alan felt the need to take a deep breath before replying. It was possible to make him lose his temper; he had many times over his life. He simply worked hard not to do so when provoked. “That’s the third untruth you’ve spoken tonight. You’re doing this because you want to.”

“You’re the one who told me that I had to start acting like an alpha,” Derek countered.

Alan grabbed the bridge of his nose.

“So, you’re idea of how to be a better alpha is to give me an ultimatum? Join my pack or leave?” Scott squinted at him. “What the fuck was your family like?”

Derek’s eyes blazed red at the insult.

“And what am I supposed to tell my mother? Hey, Mom, I have to leave Beacon County because remember that terrifying monster I turned into? Yeah, that other monster you saw told me that we have to leave or I have to do what he says for the rest of my life. No, Derek. I’m not joining your pack, and I’m not leaving. I don’t even know why you think I would do that.”

“Because if not, he’s going to kill you,” A chipper Peter crowed. 

Scott turned to Derek. “You’d do that?”

Derek looked for a moment that he was going to deny it but then he set his jaw. “As you told me, Scott, I’m sorry, but I have to do this.”

“Okay!” Jackson pushed himself off the wall. “That makes this so much easier for me then. My parents have been wanting to ship me off to London to ‘get away from it all,’ and I’ve been resisting because I thought that maybe I should try to clean up the mess I made, but I forgot.” He sneered. “I forgot how much of an absolute screw-up you are, Derek Hale. You knew something was happening to me and you left me to die. You tried to kill me twice in that warehouse. Now, a month later, it’s serve me or I kill you? That’s your next move?”

“Pack isn’t like that—” Derek began.

“Maybe I should ask Boyd and Erica about that?” Jackson cut him off. “Oh, that’s right. You were such an unbelievable loser that they got their asses tortured rather than spend another minute with you. So my answer is going to be complete and in several parts.”

He flipped off Isaac. “Fuck you.” He flipped off Peter. “Fuck you.” And he turned to Derek. “Fuck you especially. I’m so mad I can’t even gesture.”

“You still need help learning to control the shift.”

“And what’s it going to cost me, huh? I’ve had one master. I don’t want another.” Jackson’s facade of anger dropped, and Alan could see the absolute hurt displayed across the boy’s face. “I don’t know what’s coming for you, Derek, but I’m sure you deserve it.” 

As Jackson turned to leave, Scott said his name and then trailed off.

“I’m going to say two things to you, McCall. First, you were right, and if you think saying those words doesn’t want to make me swallow my own tongue, you don’t know me very well.”

Scott’s eyes were fixed on Derek, but he nodded. 

“Second, I’m sorry that you got dragged into this, and you shouldn’t let him take your life from you. I’m not going to fight this prick, because I don’t think I have any room to commit more violence. But you should have ripped his throat out when you had the chance.”

With that, Jackson disappeared out of the Hale House. They heard him get into his car and drive away.

“My goal,” Derek gritted out. “My goal isn’t to drive anyone away. There are things coming that we can only face together, as a pack. I know that I’ve made mistakes, and I wish I could just let you be, but that’s not possible. And since it’s not possible, I need you either with me or gone.”

“ _I don’t believe you,_ ” Scott gritted out. In the corner of his eyes, Alan saw Stiles’s eyes narrow. While Scott had been focusing on what Derek’s threat meant to him, Stiles had picked up on the fact that there was something going on that neither boy knew about. He glanced at Alan, who nodded back to him.

“Do you really think you can stand against us, Scott?” Peter asked from the back, needling as he always did.

“I beat both of you before. I didn’t want to have to do it again, but I will if I have to.” Scott turned to him. “What do you think?”

Alan studied Scott’s eyes before he turned to Derek. He could reveal the Alpha Pack’s presence and what it meant for Derek, but that might guilt Scott into joining Derek’s pack just to keep the pack alive. He could suggest that Scott reject Derek’s offer, keeping him from truly involved when the Demon Wolf arrived, but it would escalate the situation into violence. “I think …”

All eyes were on him.

“Scott, I think that you shouldn’t let Derek or anyone, including me, determine the path you take through life. On the other hand, I don’t think Derek realizes he is acting like Gerard, though he is by trying to force you into a choice which is beyond his authority or his power. So, I believe you should take time to think about it.” He turned to Derek. “You aren’t forcing his decision tonight, are you?”

“No.” Derek snapped. “I’m not Gerard.”

“Very well. Good night.” He ushered Scott and Stiles out of the Hale House.


	9. May 17, 2011

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Suicide plays a big role in this chapter.

Well-design and well-run restaurants exhibited a hushed atmosphere, even when they were very busy. So many things could have ruin the atmosphere: confused staff, tables too close together, or simply an inattentive concierge placing people too close together. Beacon Hills had at least one restaurant that managed to maintain this level of quality.

Alan lifted his wine glass up over the tasteful candles and the flawlessly set table. “So with this, I toast to your Happy Birthday and to many happy returns of the day. I swear you never seem to grow any older.” 

Marin smiled at him. “I thought we decided we were getting too old to celebrate birthdays.”

“We? You should speak for yourself. I’ll consider no longer celebrating my birthday when I turn thirty.”

She reward him with a deadpan stare. “Alan, you’re forty-three.” 

“I am? Oh, well.” 

Their mutual laughter seemed only a little strained to his ears. Since she had come back in February, they had had several blazing arguments about the Alpha Pack and the dangerous game which Marin was playing. He had promised her that he would not bring up his objections this evening so as to not ruin their celebration. He struggled not to break his promise. 

He had struggled even more to resist the urge to pump her for information about why Deucalion had not made a move yet. 

“While we wait for the desert to arrive, I have a present for you.”

“Alan!” She seemed flattered. “You shouldn’t have.”

“In a way, consider it an apology. We’ve been fighting a lot, and I wanted to remind you that I am your brother no matter what.” He reached into his jacket. “I should also tell you that you should read nothing into this gift.”

“Now I’m concerned.”

He took the jewelry box out of his jacket and slid it across the table to her. “I remember you admiring a similar one a long time ago.”

Marin took the box and opened it to reveal a lovely silver ring, washed with gold, with a large apple-green jadeite stone. “It’s beautiful. It does remind me of Elaine’s …” His sister examined the ring, quickly finding and opening the secret compartment.

“It is very much like Elaine’s.”

“A poison ring. You shouldn’t have.” She smiled at him. “And no, I won’t read anything into it.”

“That’s good.” 

The pleasant moment between them was spoiled by his phone. He frowned; he hadn’t expected any calls. Pulling the phone out of his jacket pocket, he saw it was from Scott.

“You should answer it, Alan.” Marin said seriously. “After all, it’s the full moon tonight.”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

She shook her head, so he picked up. 

“Hello, Scott, I’m in the middle of dinner—”

“This isn’t Scott.”

“Isaac, is there a problem? How did you get Scott’s phone?”

The young beta’s voice was ragged with the potency of the full moon. “He gave it to me. Look, Scott asked me to warn you.”

“Warn me?” He looked up at Marin, and her brows came together.

“Are you at the clinic?” 

“No. I’m out with my sister at Alimentari Da Pesavento.”

“You need to go to your clinic right away and do that thing which makes it hard for werewolves to get in. I mean right now. You, and anyone with you, are in danger.”

“Isaac, tell me why.”

“We’re trying to stop him, but just go. Okay? Go now!” The beta hung up. 

Alan slid his phone into his jacket, thinking it over. He didn’t take long to make his decision, waving to get the waiter’s attention.

Marin’s face had slid permanently into concern. “Do you think it’s anything serious?”

“Scott wouldn’t have given Isaac his phone so soon after the meeting we had with Derek at the Hale House if it wasn’t important. You should come with me to the clinic.”

“You go on, I’ll stay here and pay the bill.” She watched his face. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll call someone to pick me up.” 

“They’re here, aren’t they?” Alan looked at her. “Marin …”

“If they were going to make a move on you, they wouldn’t want me to be involved, so why do it tonight? I told them I would be unavailable and why. I’ll be fine.”

Alan relented, because the only other alternative was to distrust his own sister, and she had done nothing to merit that. He put on his jacket and headed out to the car. The restaurant was a popular one, so he had to walk a block or so to the car. The full moon of May spied on him from behind an apartment building. 

Strangely enough, it was footsteps that gave his assailant away, rather than growls or flashing eyes. Alan barely had enough time to register the dark shape moving at him from out of the alley before it was on top of him. He was pushed, hard, into the side of his car, smashing the driver’s side window. It hurt badly. He rolled off the car and down onto the ground. 

He could see the gleaming yellow eyes above him, so he brought up his left leg and kicked the werewolf away. Pushing himself through the pain, he pulled himself to his feet and reached for the packet of mountain ash powder he kept in jacket pocket. 

Before he could throw it, his assailant grabbed that arm and pinned it to the hood of his car. From this angle, he could now see the face of his attacker in the moonlight.

“Stiles?”

It was indeed a transformed Stiles, but there was no trace of hesitation in the boy’s face. Holding Alan’s arm with the mountain ash with one hand, the points of his claws digging painfully into Alan’s flesh, Stiles reared back with his other hand. The moon-mad werewolf was going to kill him. 

But Alan had another hand free as well. He snapped out the telescoping baton and struck Stiles across the face. It startled the boy out of delivering the attack, but even in this newly transformed state, Stiles kept enough presence of mind not to let go of the arm with the mountain ash.

Alan struck him again and again. Powered by the moon, Stiles would barely be able to feel the blows. Alan’s only hope was to get him to release his other arm. If not, it was only a matter of time before Stiles got a killing blow in. 

Luckily, he was saved. There was a roar from behind him and Stiles turned and fled immediately. It wasn’t out of fear, but a move of clear calculation. Alan, his entire body aching, collapse onto the car. Derek rushed up, eyes blazing and fully transformed.

“Derek!” Alan shouted. “What did you do?”

The alpha didn’t answer him. “Take care of Deaton. Get him to safety.” Then he sprinted off after Stiles. 

Strong hands grabbed him from behind. “I got you.”

“I’m fine, Scott. What happened?”

Scott didn’t answer the question, he just got Alan into the driver’s seat of his car. “You’re not fine. Give me your keys.”

He didn’t have it in him to refuse. Scott pulled the car out without bothering to clean the glass off the seat. It must have cut into the boy during the entire drive. Scott drove directly toward the clinic.

Alan checked himself over for injuries as they drove. He had lacerations on his arms and legs, though none of them seemed particularly deep. He didn’t feel any broken bones either, but he would certainly feel the bruises for the next few weeks. It could have been much worse.

“Derek bit Stiles,” Scott said suddenly.

“Okay.” Alan sighed. At least it hadn’t been one of the Alpha Pack. If it had been, Scott would probably never have forgiven Alan. He probably would never have forgiven himself. 

“He _asked_ for it.”

Alan turned to Scott. The boy was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had turned white. His eyes were glowing bright gold. 

“You should turn on the headlights. You don’t need them, but it will draw attention if you’re driving at night without them being on.”

“Oh, right.” Scott fiddled around with the car until he found the right button. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m … no, I’m not.” Scott kept driving, not turning to look at him. “Stiles asked Derek for the Bite.”

“You said that.”

“He did it for me.” 

Alan didn’t say anything, because he had to take a moment to process it. “I see. I guess that’s why he came after me. It was partly a reaction to our conversation the other day.”

Scott swallowed. “Did you tell him that he couldn’t help me as a human?”

“I did not do that. I would never do that. I told him that I wouldn’t help him become an Emissary.”

The hands tightened on the steering wheel once again. 

“He came to me and asked me to teach him what I knew. I told him I didn’t believe he had the right temperament to do it, and it was far too dangerous at the present time to enmesh him even deeper into the supernatural world.”

Scott slowed down at a stop light. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t have the right attitude, and I think his most recent actions prove that. Stiles wants to help you. He wants to protect his father. He wants to protect his friends. All laudable goals. He came to me, I turned him down, and so he immediately went to the next possible source of power.”

“I wish he hadn’t done it.”

“Me, too, obviously. But it demonstrates his impatience. It demonstrates his insecurity. He didn’t need to change to be your friend, did he?”

“No.”

The car moved down the street. 

“Did you have to turn him down? Couldn’t you have told him that you weren’t able to teach him rather than you wouldn’t?”

“No, Scott. Haven’t people lied enough?”

Scott pulled into the clinic’s parking lot, turned off the car and rested his head on the steering wheel. “This is my fault.”

“It is not.” Deaton’s voice was sharp. “And you know that.”

“If I had just submitted to Derek …”

“Stop, please. You can feel sorry for Stiles and what he’s going through, but your life is still yours. It is not only your right to be able to choose what’s best for you; it’s your responsibility. How did this night start?”

“What?”

“Especially after the Worm Moon, I can’t imagine Derek wouldn’t be careful with a new Beta.” 

Scott looked up and wiped his eyes. “That’s the funny part. Stiles seemed perfectly fine, no aggression or anger, yet when Derek went to get something upstairs — they were at the Hale House — and Stiles was gone when he came back down. Derek still doesn’t know how he unlocked the door.”

“I’m going to go inside. You need to help Derek find him. I have a suspicion that Stiles is going to need you before tonight is over.”

As if on cue, Deaton’s phone chimed. The message made his heart sink. It was a one-word text from Isaac using Scott’s phone: _Lydia’s._

**~*~**

Alan examined himself once more in the mirror; the damage could have been worse. The right side of his face had stopped swelling though there was still significant bruising. He had taken care of the shallow cuts with an antiseptic cream and adhesive bandages. In the end, it looked like he had been on the losing side of a fist fight. 

When he was young, he had never been in a real rumble. He had always considered himself too smart for something like that. On the other hand, he had been in plenty of sparring sessions and had received plenty of bruises during them. Satomi, in particular, always made sparring particularly painful. She did it, she said, to toughen her students up for when they actually had to fight for their lives, and she also did it remind them of the cost of combat. Satomi never sought out violence, but she did not pretend she could never be targeted by it.

Alan turned out the light as he left the bathroom off his office. He examined his ruined clothes, folded them up and put them in a canvas bag. He’d take them home and see if he could get the bloodstains out.

His phone, laying unattended on the metal examination table, chirped at him. It had to be a message from either Scott or Isaac checking up on him. Allowing himself a small smile on this terrible night, he dialed the number rather than text back.

“Doc, are you okay?”

“I am, Scott. I’m at my clinic, so I’m quite safe.”

“At least someone is.”

“What about you?” Alan didn’t like the tone in Scott’s voice.

“I’m at the Martins and taking a break from trying to explain to Lydia and Mrs. Martin what’s going on.”

“Are either of them injured?”

“They’re more terrified than hurt. I don’t think they’ll have to go to the hospital. I don’t understand why …”

The boy trailed off. Alan waited for a moment before prodding Scott to continue.

“Stiles loves Lydia. I don’t get why he would come here, wreck her house, throw her mother across the room, and kill her dog!” 

“Scott, Elie Wiesel said that the opposite of love was not hate, but indifference. Stiles may love her very much, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have negative feelings toward her as well. You told me that you once stalked Stiles in the locker room after the game. Did you not love him?”

“I … I guess you’re right. That time, I was so keyed up from Jackson and Coach picking at me, I wasn’t even thinking. Everything was lost in a red haze.”

“Stiles had recently teased you as well, right?”

“He only meant them as jokes.”

“Jokes still sting, even if they’re meant in good humor. When a werewolf is out of control, they’re not stupid and they’re not someone different, but they no longer care about context, nuance, or long-term consequence. You were angry at what Jackson had done to you and what Coach had said to you, and this was very soon after you were first Bitten.”

“You’re saying that since I was angry at Stiles, even just a little bit, when I lost control, I acted on it.”

“Exactly. Did Stiles tell you about his last conversation with Lydia?”

“Yeah, it was when they came to stop Jackson … oh. Oh. I see. A few days ago, he was talking about his ten-year plan having to stretch to fifteen. Stiles was frustrated but resigned to it.”

“When he lost control, that frustration turned to aggression. That’s why having an anchor is so important.” 

“Yeah …” Scott gasped in shock. “I gotta let you go, Doc. I know where he’s going next. I gotta call Derek; he’s got to get there first.”

“Where’s he going?”

“ _Home._ ” The boy hung up on him.

Alan frowned as he put the phone back down on the counter. Scott must know something about Stiles’s relationship with his father that Alan didn’t. If things were strained between them, especially after the restraining order and the Sheriff’s involuntary leave of absence, there could be simmering resentment between them. Given the current situation, that could be very bad.

He looked at front door of the clinic from where he was in the examination room. He had to be closer to the Stilinski house than Scott was. He could drive there in a few minutes time, even if he took a moment to brush the broken glass out of the driver’s seat. 

But he didn’t make the slightest move toward the door. 

He wasn’t afraid of being hurt. As long as Stiles didn’t get the drop on him, he would have a good chance of trapping the boy in a circle of mountain ash before he could do much damage. On the other hand, what he said to Scott was true as well: an out-of-control a werewolf didn’t suddenly turn stupid. Stiles was clever, and even in the thrall of the moon, he wouldn’t charge heedlessly into battle. Still, it wasn’t fear that kept him from moving. 

He wasn’t paralyzed by guilt. It was obvious from Stiles’s assault on him that his words to the boy had struck home, but he stood by them. He didn’t think he had been needlessly cruel, and he didn’t have anything to make up to the now rampaging werewolf. Guilt didn’t stop him from acting.

No, he didn’t move toward the door because he was choosing not to move toward the door. And he made that choice because it was his habit, a habit he had cultivated and nurtured and prided himself on. His habit of being reserved. His has habit of being objective. His habit of being useful as an advisor and only as an advisor.

Marin had pointed it out to him during their earlier fight over Gerard’s unconscious body. When had these things stopped being the goals he worked toward and started being his shields against emotional trauma? 

“Talia.” He whispered in the quiet stillness of the clinic. He missed her so much. 

“Laura.” He hadn’t even got to go to her funeral. 

Why was he acting if taking a more active role would be betraying their memories? If he left the confines of his clockwork existence, would he crumble under the knowledge that if he just acted a little less passively before, they might not be dead?

The bell on the front door rang. It could be someone who needed help, so he hurried out of the back room and away from his doubts.

“Boy, it smells like a support group in here. Having trouble, Doc?”

“Stiles.” The boy was still fully transformed, so his usual snappy tone was muffled by fangs. “I’m glad to see you have recovered your senses.” He willed the defenses of his clinic into existence.

“Well, you know what they say …” There was a fey quality around Stiles, and it was very disturbing. “Too little, too late. I hope I didn’t hurt you that much.”

“Nothing serious. Your first full moon can be rough.”

“Don’t I know it.” Stiles came forward but was stopped by the mountain ash barrier. “Hey. That kind of tickles. Why don’t you drop the barrier?”

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait until Derek or Scott arrive.”

“I do mind, actually. I need help. Your help.” Alan could hear the wavering of a fragile self-control in Stiles’s tone. “You see, I hurt my Dad tonight. I might have killed him. I don’t know.”

“Oh, Stiles. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Not as sorry as I am. He predicted this, you know, that I would kill him. So I need you to lower the barrier.” 

Alan couldn’t detect chemo signals the way a werewolf could, but in this case he didn’t have any need. “Why don’t you sit down and wait? They’ll get here soon, and we can work something out.”

“No.” Stiles voice shot off like a rocket. “I don’t want to work something out. I want you to let me in the back.” 

“It’s for your own good, Stiles.”

“I thought you might say that, and I thought you might not do what I want,” Stiles pulled a police service pistol out of his back waistband. “So I borrowed my dad’s piece. Drop the barrier, or I’ll blow a hole in your head, and I think that will pretty much drop the barrier.” 

“Stiles—”

“I mean it. Tempt not a desperate man.” He took a step forward. “Scott was right. I can aim this gun like I have all the time in the world. Now, Doctor Deaton. _Drop. The. Barrier._ ”

Alan was convinced that Stiles was serious, and while he was faster than others might think, he wasn’t fast enough to outrun a bullet. He stepped forward and opened the gate. 

“Okay, step back, turn around, and put your hands behind your back.”

Alan took a risk and complied. He needed to stall, not bring this crisis to a head. He also had a mirror where he could see behind him. Stiles stepped forward and with one hand pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He cuffed Alan’s hands behind his back.

“Took them off my dad. Now close the barrier, please. I’ll be able to sense it, and if you force me, I’ll have to do something crazy like shoot you in the leg.”

“Stiles, if I do that, you’ll be trapped in here as well.”

“I don’t intend to leave, but I need to make sure that Scott and Derek can’t interfere until we’re done. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Deaton didn’t glance at the clock but made a quick calculation. He willed the defenses back up and then nodded.

Stiles touched the gate only to be repelled. “Okay. Cool. I was sure I was going to have to shoot you a little bit.”

“How do you shoot someone a little bit?”

“Wing you. You know what I mean. Now, into the back.” Stiles pressed the gun into his back.

“I’m not sure what your goal is here, Stiles.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Stiles said as they walked into the examination area. “You’re going to help me kill myself.”

Alan stumbled over his own feet at those words. They had been delivered with such a blithe assurance that it had taken him entirely by surprise. He almost fell over, not having his hands free to steady himself, but Stiles snagged him by the back of his shirt.

“Whoops. Careful there, Doc.”

“Stiles, I know you’ve had a very difficult night, but I think if you stopped to think about it, you’ll understand that you’re overreacting.”

“No, you see, I don’t think I am.” Stiles smirked. “Are you going to try to talk me out of it?”

“Yes. I will absolutely try.”

He had experienced this before during his time as an apprentice with another Emissary. A newly Bitten werewolf had seemed perfectly okay on her third full moon, but it only took once. The beta had been determined to get a handle on her control, but she had only succeeded, instead of her aggression and violence being directed outward at other targets, on turning it inward against herself. Stiles’s fears and insecurity had exploded and hurt his loved ones; now they were imploding. 

“Oxygen’s free, I guess, but when I ask you questions you better answer them. I’ll figure out if you’re stalling.”

“Stiles, as I’m sure you’ve learned, the moon heightens a werewolf’s emotions while freeing them from their usual constraints. That’s why an anchor is so important.”

“Keep talking. I’ll hear if you try to leave the room.” Stiles disappeared momentarily into Alan’s office.

“I’m not going anywhere. Heightened emotions can influence judgment, and it’s especially dangerous for people who suffer from depression or low self—”

Stiles popped his head out of the office. “You think I’m depressed?” He came back out with the office chair and rolled it across the floor at him. “Take a load off, Doc. I’m not depressed. This isn’t some suppressed nightmare manifesting. I didn’t imagine ruining my life. I actually ruined it.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“I’m a werewolf now, and I think the last three days have demonstrated that I’m a pretty horrible one.”

“That is a hasty judgment. You’re not an expert in werewolves, so I can tell you that expecting perfect control on your first full moon is not a fair judgment of your nature.”

Stiles’s eyes blazed yellow and the gun shook in his hand. “I tricked Derek, and, after that, the first thing I did was run to the house of the girl I’ve loved since the third grade, terrify her and hurt her mother. Oh, and I tore her dog’s head off because it wouldn’t stop barking.”

“That is unfortunate, but not an indicator of your worth.”

“I hate fucking yappy dogs,” Stiles said absently and then shouted. “You’re confusing me!” 

“I’m trying to reason with you.” 

“Sit down!” Stiles said. “I know you have something here that could do it.”

Alan sat down but remained silent. He was going to stall and not answering questions that weren’t asked was a good place to start. 

“I killed my dad—”

“Is he actually dead, Stiles? You weren’t sure before.”

“It doesn’t matter! I hurt my dad. He’s never going to look at me the same way. He’s not going to …” Stiles wiped his eyes with his free hand. “Tell me what you have here that can do it!”

“Do what?”

“You know!”

“I’m afraid your earlier attack has made me a little disoriented.”

“Shut up.” The gun came up to menace him. Stiles was so messed up that he didn’t realize he didn’t need the gun anymore to hurt Alan. “You’re trying to stall until Scott and Derek get here, like you said.”

“I think it would be wise to wait for them. They can help you.”

“Well, shows you how much you know.” He smirked around his fangs. “I sent those two off on wild goose chases. I called Derek and told him that I was going to kill Peter, and I told Scott that I was going to kill Allison. You won’t see them tonight.”

“That was very clever of you.” Alan said.

“Sure. Sure. But I couldn’t stop myself from hurting the people who matter to me! I only did it to prove to Derek he was stupid to trust Peter, and I wanted to show Scott …”

“What?”

“That he cared about her more than he cared about me. Isn’t that pathetic?” He swept the gun across the room. “Now tell me which one I need to do this with. Which vial? Which drug?”

“I don’t think I will.”

“You think I won’t use this?” Stiles sneered and rushed forward until the gun was in Alan’s temple. “You think I won’t kill you and then blow my own head off? I gotta admit that I’m scared it won’t work, but I’m willing to risk it unless you give me an alternative.”

“I am not going to help you kill yourself. It doesn’t matter if you kill me or not.”

Alan realized that he wasn’t bluffing. He, admittedly, had problems taking action, but he had no problem being passive. He had no problem with giving advice and waiting for the results. He could do accept any result, even Stiles carrying through on his threat.

“Why would you want to die rather than help me put myself out of your — and everyone else’s — misery!” Stiles shouted in his face. “Don’t you know I’m not worth it?”

Alan opened his mouth to answer but before he could, he was interrupted.

“But you are worth it.” 

Stiles winced at the sound of Scott’s voice. “Why didn’t I hear the bell?” He leaned down to whisper in Alan’s ear. “If you try to drop that barrier, you get a bullet. Nod if you understand.”

Alan nodded, but he wasn’t afraid. 

“Come on, Stiles. Come out here.”

“Go away, Scott. We’re busy.”

“No. I won’t go until I see you.”

With his now prodigious werewolf strength, Stiles pushed the chair that Alan was sitting on out into the waiting room. There was still the wall of ash wood between them. “What are you doing here?”

Scott’s face was completely human, though he looked distraught. “Looking for you.”

“Well, you found me. Now go.”

“Doc, are you all right?” 

“I’m fine, Scott.” He smiled. “I’m not the one that Stiles is interested in hurting.”

“I heard.”

A growl forced itself out of Stiles’s throat. “Stop talking about me like I’m not here!”

“But you’re not.” Scott said in his calm voice. He came forward but was stopped by the barrier. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Stiles, you’re my best friend. I know you. You would never give up, even if you made a mistake. Even if you got someone hurt. You might feel bad and you might complain, but you wouldn’t leave your dad alone.”

“I hurt Lydia. I killed my dad!”

Scott shook his head. “You frightened Lydia. She’s not going to be very happy with you, because she really loved Prada, but she understands. And your dad is alive. They had to take him to the hospital. He’s got a concussion and some cuts, but he’ll be fine.”

“You’re lying!” 

“Stiles, I’ve never been smart enough to lie to you.”

Stiles was openly crying now. While it might seem on the surface to be a good thing, with the malevolent effects of the full moon, any emotion could explode into violence. 

“I can’t do anything right, Scott.”

“You do a lot right. You remember my first moon? I went to a party!”

“You didn’t hurt Allison. You didn’t hurt your mom. You didn’t hurt me. You were fine.”

Scott took another step forward, but Stiles hadn’t dropped the gun to Alan’s head. “I didn’t do those things that night. Or any night after that. Do you know why? Because I had someone to help me. I had someone who cared for me so much that they didn’t abandon me even when they were scared, even when I didn’t listen to them and they wanted me to listen to them. You know who that was?”

“I’m the one who dragged you out that night!” Stiles’s composure was disintegrating. Alan was afraid that the gun was shaking so hard that it might go off accidentally. 

“Derek told me why you asked him for the Bite.” 

Stiles sniffled. “I thought that it would help. That I could help. That if I joined up with his pack, you would want to join, and then they wouldn’t try to kill you and all this shit wouldn’t start happening again.”

“You gave up your humanity for me. Now, let me help you.”

“How are you going to help me?” Stiles cried. “The best thing you can do is forget about me.”

“ _No._ ” Scott stepped forward and pressed against the mountain ash barrier. 

Alan felt the pressure of it in his mind. That was interesting.

“Don’t,” Stiles said, overwrought and tortured by his own emotions. His hand jerked, probably to point the pistol at Scott.

Gambling, Alan said quietly. “If you take that gun from my head, I will lunge for that gate.” 

“I’ll kill you if you do!” Stiles hissed. 

The barrier became visible as Scott pressed against it. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles cried. “What the hell are you trying to do?”

“Saving you,” Scott grunted in exertion.

The interaction between Scott and the barrier became brighter and brighter. Alan saw the drops of blood beginning to well up from wounds opening up on Scott’s fingers.

Stiles began to grow more frantic, but this wasn’t a good thing. As rational as he had seemed, Alan had been taught that without an anchor, a young werewolf could not possibly think straight. He could still hurt Alan, hurt Scott, hurt himself. “Stop!” He jerked the gun to point at Scott.

Suddenly, the light flared into the something so bright that Alan had to shut his eyes. Stiles tripped backward and fell. The gun went off, too loud and too close.

When he opened his eyes, Scott was kneeling next to a prone Stiles, taking the gun out of his hand and shoving it across the floor. Stiles was staring at him.

“How did you do that?”

“I’m an alpha now.”

Alan watched the boys comfort each other. Another tragedy and more trauma inflicted on children. Scott looked up at him with the red eyes of an alpha and Alan felt the world shift. Something had to be done, or things like this would keep happening.

It was time for him to _act._


	10. June 2011

Alan washed the last plate and put it away. He had waited until the sun had fully set before he had dared come into the kitchen. He was a grown up; he could stall if he wanted to. Luckily, the dinner dishes were still there, waiting for him. 

Now they were done. He sighed and opened the refrigerator door. The case had been sitting there since December, and now it was June. No one had drank a single can. Most likely, no one ever would. He picked up the case, walked to the garage and dumped it in the trash can. 

He studied the brown and orange A&W logo for minutes before he closed the lid. He hadn’t thought a simple thing would be so hard.

He returned to the kitchen and dug a roll of packing tape out of the utility drawer and took a pair of scissors out of the knife block. He had gone through the entire house and found everything. Every knickknack, every picture, every letter, every receipt, and he had put them in a box. The box now sat on his living room coffee table.

It was everything that she had ever given him. As he stared into it, he took out his keychain. He removed the rosa del inca stone from it and placed it gently on top of the other items. Then he sealed the box.

“Good bye, Talia.” 

He had thought about tossing all these into the garbage along with the cream soda, but he realized that would be too much. He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t know her or her daughter or her family. This ritual’s purpose was to put them where they belonged. In the past. 

He carried the box up into the attic, and placed it with the boxes of stuff from his childhood, from his college days, from his trips around the world. Then he turned off the light and went back downstairs.

The clock struck ten, softly. He went over, opened the glass, and used the winding key for its intended purpose. As it had for over a century, the second hand moved on, steadily and slowly, as the world changed into something new.

“Time starts now.” Alan heard the echo of the ages in his repetition of Nahum’s words. 

This was right. This was good. 

He must have stood there for five minutes before there was a knock on the door. 

“It’s open.”

Marin stood in the entrance way. “You ready?”

“Surprisingly enough, I’ve been ready for a several months. I just didn’t realize it.” He turned and followed her outside. Marin favored small foreign cars. She was driving a silver Peugeot 308. It suited her needs, he guessed.

They drove away without further discussion. The sky was dark and overcast, but that would be okay as they weren’t missing anything. There would be no moon in the sky tonight. There might have been stars, but it made no difference.

As they hit the city limits, heading south, Marin broke the silence. “I have to say I’m surprised you’ve taken this step. I’m proud of you.”

Alan didn’t answer her. He simply stared out the passenger-side window, watching the porchlights gleam in the yards of rural homes. 

“It’s got to be difficult, as it’s such a departure from your usual behavior. If you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“Do be quiet, Marin.” 

He was brusque, but it didn’t seem to sour her mood. Luckily, Beacon Hills Airport was only seven minutes from his house. It had a single concrete runway, suitable for charters and private airplanes. It also boasted of a half-a-dozen small hangars. At this time of the night, the airport should have been almost deserted, but not this particular evening. Even in the sparse electric glow of the security lights, he could see a dozen people milling about the last hangar in the row. Two people stood out in front.

“They’re waiting for us.” Marin pointed out as she parked the car.

Alan sighed. They got out together and walked over to where a man and a woman stood. No one smiled or raised a hand in greeting. It wasn’t that kind of night. 

Marin glanced at Alan, obviously expecting him to take the lead. He would have, but the words were having difficulty coming. She decided to help him out.

“I’m surprised that the Matriarch is not present.”

“Allison has chosen to recuse herself in this matter. She’s on her way to France.” Chris Argent spoke with a cold economy. “I will join her there after our business is concluded.”

“Which should be concluded soon,” said the older woman standing next to him. Araya Calavera was far less cold to them than Argent but far more malevolent. “These matters should be done with great care and that takes time. We are burning night.” 

“I’d like to speak with them for a few minutes before hand. They’re well secured, correct?”

Araya squinted at him. “Yes. The wolves are going nowhere.”

Alan left his sister with the Argent and the matriarch of the Calaveras, and entered the airplane hangar. Each step wrenched at his gut, but he had to do face them if it was to mean anything. 

Derek Hale and Peter Hale were securely bound to two individual support columns and surrounded by a ring of mountain ash. They had been secured by experts, but even if they got free, they couldn’t get past the ash. They were trapped.

“You,” Peter hissed. “You did this.”

“Yes, I did. Are you really that surprised?”

“To be quite honest, yes,” Peter snarled. “I didn’t think you had the balls. I really expected you to sit back and mumble useless advice while real battles were being fought.”

Alan looked away from the older Hale to the alpha. Derek was silently staring at him, with that same air of fragile pain that he carried with him. He didn’t say anything yet.

“Are you here to gloat? So much for your famed loyalty to Talia.”

“Peter, you are the last person to speak about loyalty. Tell me, how did you manage to make Laura suspicious of me?”

“It was easy as pie. My nurse mailed her that picture, and I made sure that Laura knew it came from your office. She’d be confused as to why you hadn’t contacted her about it, and she would try to investigate first before talking to you.” 

“So she died distrusting me and trusting you.” Alan shook his head. “Gloat? It hurts me just to look at you.”

Derek finally spoke. “You sold us out to the hunters.”

“No, Derek. That would be true if they came to me and offered me something in return for this. I went to them.” Alan said slowly. “I went to them and convinced them that they had to do this. It wasn’t an easy thing to do.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Peter snarled. “How does this fit in with your precious Balance?”

Alan walked up to the edge of Peter’s prison. “You used the darkest magic in order to bring yourself back to the dead after you had managed to kill eight people in six weeks. The Balance demands that this be answered. But …” He took a deep breath. “Even if you weren’t dangerously out of tune with nature, I would say screw the Balance.”

He studied the bound werewolf. There was nothing left there to save. “As for my loyalty? You’re correct. My loyalty was to Talia, not to you, and it was because she earned it. I never became either of your Emissaries because you weren’t worthy of my advice.”

“And Scott is?” Peter snapped.

“He’s sixteen. Time will tell.” Deaton wasn’t going to share anything with these two. “I did make a promise to protect her children, though. You know what I say now? Screw that promise. Talia’s been dead for six years. She doesn’t care anymore. You know who does? The families and friends of the people you killed, Peter, and the people that Jackson killed. These families will never know why their loved ones died, because I can’t tell them. They’ll never understand what happened, and they’ll live with that for the rest of their own lives.”

“So, you’re doing it for the families?” Peter chuckled nastily.

“I’m doing it for the children. For the seven teenagers whose lives you two have warped into an unrecognizable struggle for life and death, when they should have been deciding where they wanted to go to college. I know it’s hard for you two to think about anyone but yourselves, but imagine the futures you’ve given them: Scott, Lydia, Jackson, Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and now Stiles? What the hell were you thinking when you Bit him, Derek?”

“He asked me. He said he wanted to help, and I needed help. What was I supposed to do?”

“You could have said no! You could have told him that it would be impossibly, inconceivably selfish for you to Bite yet another child when you knew the Alpha Pack was on its way here. I couldn’t believe it when I learned what you did. But I don’t think you made that decision, did you?”

Derek glowered at him. “No one forced me to do anything that I didn’t think was necessary.” 

“Let me tell you what I think really happened. Stiles came to you with his offer, and you told him no at first, Derek, but this creature masquerading as your relative over there told you that this was the perfect _opportunity._ Stiles was clever and smart and far more flexible than Scott, and Biting him would have an additional benefit of finally and truly bringing Scott to your side. This fey monstrosity who used to be your uncle, who got you to Bite the first girl you ever loved, who murdered your sister, who came back from the dead by torturing a girl from beyond the grave, told you that you should endanger another life as a strategy.”

“I didn’t have much choice. You know as well as I do what is coming. I am fully aware of what Peter is capable, but he made sense. It still makes sense.”

“Only if you don’t care what happens to anyone but you and your uncle. Don’t try to convince me that you took precautions about Peter; you gave him a house key.”

Derek didn’t argue, but simply said, “He’s family.” It was such a waste. If only Derek had had the time to grow into something different, free of his uncle’s corrupting influence. 

“I warned you not to trust him, yet you did. Seven teenagers now must live in the aftermath of that decision. How many more lives should I let you ruin before I did something?”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” Derek answered. “I had to do something to get Boyd and Erica back. Who is going to free them?”

“I’m working on it,” Alan promised. “But they’re no longer your concern.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I have finally done what needed to be done. The Calaveras are going to come in here and execute Peter right in front of you. They’re probably going to do it in an unbelievably barbaric way, like cut him in half with a chainsaw. Then they are going to burn both halves of the body while Marin and I perform a ritual — that’s right, Peter, you’re not the only one to have secrets — to bind his soul forever to a material object, which I will bury at the Nemeton.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Peter growled.

“Any more than I already have? You took Laura from me, Peter. You two may have taken Scott from me as well, I don’t know, I haven’t talked to him since we stopped Stiles from killing himself. What more is there that I could pay?” Deaton shook his head. “As for you, Derek, you will be made to watch and then you will be put on an airplane and flown back to New York. You will never return to Beacon Hills. You will never return to California. If you do, you’ll be killed and treated the same way Peter will be. You will never contact any of your betas again.”

“I can’t do that. You can’t ask me to abandon my responsibilities. I turned them and they need me. They need an alpha.”

 _They have one._ Alan did not need to bite his tongue to keep that secret. “They’ll manage. Better than that, without you here, the Alpha Pack will leave, and that has to be an improvement over what would happen next. You have no plan to stop Deucalion. If you did, you’ve kept it to yourself, and no one trusts you anymore. I guess, in the end, I couldn’t stand by and do nothing when the result would be watching the Demon Wolf make you kill every child you’ve Bitten. But I did get the hunters to spare your life. In that, I did fulfill my promise to your mother. I protected you from the legitimate consequences of your own actions.”

“You don’t have the right to make that call,” Derek growled. 

“No,” Alan said sadly. “I don’t, but I made it anyway.” He turned on his heel and left.

**~*~**

Meditation used to come so easily to him, but the events of the last few months had made it hard to put aside burdens and focus inward. Yet, Alan persevered. This was important. When this meeting took place, he had to be at the height of his self-control. It was crucial.

The heavy wooden box he sat upon must have been in this place for decades. He would have been just as comfortable on the floor of the distillery, but presentation was also going to be important. He didn’t want to start the conversation in an inferior position.

“Really, Alan? Why would you choose this place?”

Alan opened his eyes. “It bears a certain significance in our shared history. I wanted you to bear that history in mind when we had our talk.”

“It does bear a certain significance. Far more for me than for you. But that’s not why you wanted to meet here.” Deucalion tapped his cane back and forth as he entered the building through the open door. “You wanted me unsettled by the echoes of past trauma. A valiant effort, but for naught. I have long ago put what happened here to rest.”

“That’s debatable. I think you have nothing else other then what happened to you in this building.”

Deucalion smirked. “Is this an appeal to my better nature?”

“No,” Alan stretched his leg and got off the box. “While I would like nothing more than for someone to sit down with you on a therapist’s couch and rediscover your better nature, it’s not going to be me. I’m done trying to work around the homicidal tendencies of privileged white men. This will be a purely practical discussion.”

“That’s out of character for you.”

“I would prefer to think of it as turning over a new leaf. I’ve always been concerned with de-escalating violence and moderating extremism. I’ve just been forced to be more active in going about it.”

“Fair enough.” 

Alan glanced around. “Where are the others?”

“Engaging in other pursuits. I think that Kali took the boys shopping for school clothes.” He chuckled. “What form will your actions take? This isn’t another ambush, is it?”

“No. I will be providing information targeted to a specific end.” Alan began. “Peter Hale is dead.”

“He’s been dead before.”

“This time it will be permanent. His body has been cut in half and burned. One portion is stored in an urn in the Hale crypt, and the other I believe was dumped in the Gulf of California. Marin and I trapped his soul in an uncut black tourmaline, and I buried it at the Nemeton. If he can come back from that, he deserves to win.”

Deucalion nodded. “A fitting end for a manipulative sociopath like himself. And his nephew?”

“New York City, I think.”

That was something the Demon Wolf didn’t like. “When is he due to return?”

“He’s not. I worked with the Argents and the Calaveras to exile him. You’ll have to go elsewhere to complete your collection.”

Deucalion’s jaw tightened as he consumed this news. “Hm. I guess my plan was a little too convoluted and long term if it was foiled so easily, but who would have guessed you would have found your spine? Perhaps I will have to go elsewhere. Perhaps I won’t.”

“You are talking about Scott? That’s no longer an issue either.”

“What do you mean?”

Alan had been meditating for a very specific purpose, and this was it. He had to get through the next few minutes without a single blip in his heart rate. He had practiced and practiced. He had to sell every single lie. 

“I convinced Scott to go against his instincts and allow the Argents and the Calaveras to execute Peter. He was very adamant that this wasn’t the solution, but I came out and said that if he trusted me and that if he wanted our relationship to continue, he would let it go forward. I dislike that I had to resort to that form of manipulation, but in the end, he relented.”

“You did it on purpose.”

“I did.” Alan focused on the imagined ticking of the grandfather’s clock and imagined his heart matching it. “It was unpleasant and unethical, but necessary.”

“You stole away his potential.”

“Which potential were you referring to?”

“The potential to be a True Alpha, the one that you discovered and that your sister told me about. He could have become the rarest of all alphas, but you broke his will to serve your own needs.”

“Ah, yes. It seems manipulative of me, but you’re forgetting something. Scott didn’t want to be a werewolf. Scott didn’t want to be an alpha. And he certainly didn’t want to join your Alpha Pack. I did what I had to do to protect him.”

“Protection!” Deucalion snorted, but he didn’t fool Alan. The Demon Wolf was examining him with every sense at his disposal. “Condemning him to be an omega is hardly protection.”

“You see, that’s your mistake right there, and it’s one you share with many others. You see things only in terms of your privileged position within the supernatural world. He’s not just a werewolf. He’s a teenage boy with a family, with friends, with hobbies, and with plans for his future that literally have nothing to do with the violent struggles which you and the others think are so important. When you and Peter and Derek and Gerard think about Scott, you don’t see a person. Peter saw a tool to get the revenge he wanted, Derek saw a reflection of himself on which he could work out his psychological issues, Gerard saw a lever to force others to obey him, and you? You saw another aspect of your vision of a new werewolf future.”

“And when you think about him, what do you see?”

“He’s my assistant at the animal clinic.” Alan answered honestly. “Whatever else he becomes now will be his choice.”

Deucalion fell silent, considering what had been said. Alan focused on the clock. He needed to project surety and calm so what Deucalion couldn’t detect the way he was manipulating information. He had covered his scent effectively. Only his heart could give it away.

The alpha finally shook his head. “No use crying over spilled milk. I will find Derek Hale, though.”

“He’s no longer my concern.”

“Alan …” Deucalion’s voice softened. “I know what Talia meant to you, because I know what she meant to me. Can you really say that?”

“Let me give me you some unsolicited advice. Nostalgia can be as damaging as trauma. I miss her, but I can’t live the rest of my life with that as my guiding principle. Eventually, I had to realize that caring for her memory more than the living, breathing children in front of me was wrong.”

“I wish you luck with that, but I doubt it. Now, if there is nothing else?”

Alan cleared his throat. “There is something.”

Deucalion had already turned away but he paused.

“Vernon Boyd and Erica Reyes. You have them.”

“I do.”

“I want them freed.”

“Why should I do that? I told you that I still intend to add Derek to my pack.”

“Their usefulness as bait is eroding rapidly. Unless you intend to pursue a rich, powerful young man across the world with two teenagers in tow. Eventually, you’re going to run across authorities you can’t buy off or intimidate, and you know what happens to packs — even Alpha Packs — if they kill too many federal agents.”

Deucalion frowned. “I’ve gone to a lot of trouble. I would prefer not to come out of this empty handed.”

“You don’t have to.” Alan took a deep breath. “I have an offer.”

“You’re full of surprises today. What do you have that I would need?”

“The address where Gerard Argent is being kept.” Alan replied. “I have it on a card here in my pocket.”

“You’d give that to me. Can you imagine what I would do to him?”

“Yes.” Alan had actually done that. “I won’t say that he would deserve it — I don’t think anyone would — but those two kids deserve it far less.” 

“And what does Chris Argent and their new Matriarch have to say about that?”

“Nothing. They’re in France.”

Deucalion paused once again, considering it. “How did you get this information?”

“I told Araya Calavera the whole story about how he tried to cure his cancer with a werewolf bite, and how he pushed for Victoria Argent to kill herself after the same thing. She tracked the information down and shared it with me, so you have to understand, you have a narrow window to make use of it before she takes matters into her own hands.”

“That’s … pretty ruthless, Alan.” The blind werewolf’s head turned to the carved-out spiral on the wall.

“It’s not revenge, Deucalion, it’s Balance. He’s hurt a lot of people, and he’s done terrible things, but if I wanted revenge, I could have taken it months ago. For me to use his suffering in this way will do some good.”

The Demon Wolf remained completely still, as did Alan. Yet, standing in this abandoned distillery, Alan realized that taking actions in this manner was far easier than he might have imagined. He cautioned himself not to forget all his lessons. There would always be a heady rush of power when you began to move pieces on the board for yourself.

“Done. I will release them immediately.”

“Do I have your word?”

“Yes, you do.”

Alan gave him the card. Deucalion would release them as a matter of pride now. 

“I would say until we meet again, but I don’t think we will. Good bye, Alan.”

“Farewell.” He watched the blind werewolf leave the distillery.

**~*~**

It had been a long Saturday. The seven adults now gathered in Alan’s living room had come at nine, and it was a little after two now. At first, they had been afraid of what he might say, and then they were horrified to find out what had happened, and they had settled into being somewhat overwhelmed by how their lives had changed in just a few short months. To children, a lot of things that were new and exciting were welcome; to middle-aged men and women, the earth shifting under their feet engendered far more fear.

He had arranged the living room so they would be comfortable. He had moved one of brown leather club chairs to one side, sitting with his back to the Brokaw grandfather’s clock. The other one had its back to the cold fireplace, where Melissa McCall sat next to the wheelchair-bound sheriff. Noah Stilinski was recovering quite nicely from the incident with his son, and he was only using the wheelchair because Ms. McCall threatened to put him back in the hospital if he didn’t take it easy.

On the love seat to his left sat the Boyds, Estelle and Thomas. They were woefully unprepared for their exposure to the supernatural, and Alan wasn’t quite sure if they understood everything he had said to them, but they were absolutely thrilled at having their eldest son returned to them. They were content to listen and absorb, as soon as they understood that their son was now safe and would be able to return to their family.

Enrique and Becky Lynn Reyes, on the other hand, were far more incisive and not a little bit rude. They were used to asking questions of doctors about Erica’s condition, so they grilled Alan on all the possible problems with lycanthropy. They processed their daughter’s transformation by recasting it as simply another medical problem. He foresaw problems between them and their daughter in the future.

Next to that couple sat Natalie Martin. He had invited her to this meeting because, while Lydia had not turned into a werewolf, the girl had been repeatedly traumatized by the situation, and she deserved to know the truth. 

They all deserved to know the truth in order to be able to better protect their children. 

“I still don’t understand it,” Ms. Martin was saying. “If the Bite either turns you or kills you … I know you’ve tried to explain it to me, but I’m just worried. Could she still die?”

“I don’t believe so, but I can’t be sure, Natalie.” Over the last five hours, they had started calling each other by their first names. “She was Bit in February, and there is literally no story in thousands of years of the Bite taking that long to work. I can’t tell you if it is because of something inherent in her or something that the alpha who Bit her did differently.”

“Can we ask him?”

Alan shook his head. “He paid the price for his crimes, which included the supernatural violation of your daughter.”

The sheriff shifted in his chair. “I’m not comfortable with that.”

“I’m not comfortable with it, either, Sheriff, but it had to be done that way in order to protect the secret of the supernatural from the general public. I’ve been over this before, but let me once again stress how absolutely important it is for you to help your children keep this secret. Especially Scott McCall’s status.” He looked at Melissa. “If the Alpha Pack discover that I deceived them, they will return.”

“And you’ll be in danger.” Noah didn’t like that either.

“Everyone will be in danger.” 

He had talked about it several times about the need for secrecy. He didn’t think that there would be a problem once he had explained Deucalion’s mania. 

David Whittemore stared at him sourly. “You should have told us when you first discovered that Jackson had been … transformed.”

“You might be right, but I was trained since I was younger than your children are now to keep the secrets that have to be kept in order to protect others. This isn’t an excuse, but it took me going against everything I’ve ever learned to break this news to you. In some cases, it was against the wishes of your children.”

Becky Lynn sighed. “Did she think we would hate her for trying to cure her epilepsy?” Enrique grabbed his wife’s hand. 

Alan couldn’t answer the woman’s question. He suspected, but he would never say it out loud, that the Reyes family was overprotective, and Erica had wanted something for herself. She had been the one most adamant about not telling her parents, but in the face of his arguments, she had to relent in the end. She wanted her freedom, but deceptions and falsehoods had nearly cost Erica her life, and she didn’t want to put her parents through the same ordeal. 

“You’ll have to talk to her about that. But unless there are any other questions, we should wrap this up. Your children will be coming over after school to discuss what we talked about today.”

Thomas Boyd frowned, slightly. “As a pack, you said?”

“Perhaps. That remains to be seen. I’m going to assure you once more, none of your children will be coerced into it.”

They looked at each other. It would take them some time to digest this new world. 

“I have one more question,” Melissa McCall said from her spot. “Why? I’ve talked to Scott, and you didn’t cause any of this. Who are you to want to get involved?”

Alan looked at all of them, thinking how to put it. “I’m a veterinarian.”

The adults all chuckled at that, taking it as a joke but it faded away as they saw he was serious.

“I like taking care of animals, because in our world, all too often, they are not taken care of properly. You’ve all heard about bags of kittens being thrown into a river because they’re not wanted, and faithful hounds being chained outside in blizzards because they’re ‘outside dogs.’ I’ve seen pit bulls turned into savage killers for the pleasure of watching them fight to the death, and I’ve treated a dozen malnourished and sickened cats because a woman loved them too much even if she didn’t have the resources to handle them. When humans — and I include werewolves in that — have power over other living things, they must be very careful not to allow the lives in their care to become possessions. Even pets have dignity and a degree of autonomy.”

He sighed. “I truly believe that Derek Hale meant no harm to your children, but he couldn’t stop himself from projecting his fears and desires onto them. He tried to correct the tragedies of the past without considering that perhaps those children had a purpose beyond his needs. On the other hand, Peter Hale saw your children as tools to be used and discarded in pursuit of his revenge and his survival. Gerard Argent saw your children as monsters to be destroyed if they couldn’t be employed to serve. Deucalion would burn their world to the ground to satisfy his own convictions. All of these men forget that, werewolf or human, these children aren’t things.”

It answered Melissa’s question enough to put an end to the meeting. He walked them all out, helping Melissa get the grumbling sheriff into the car. He made sure each of them could contact him if they thought of more questions of if they simply needed someone to talk out their fears. 

Alan couldn’t be completely sure about what he had just done. He didn’t think that the Sheriff or Melissa would panic, and he suspected that Natalie had dealt with something like this before with her mother-in-law. He’d just have to have a little faith.

He went back in and picked up the room a little. When the kids came by after school, they had things to go over, and it was a little trick to have the scents of their parents there. It might help things go more smoothly.

They arrived slowly, not quite a pack yet, but he had hope. Jackson and Lydia arrived together, and then Derek’s three Betas. Scott and Stiles came last. He had set out drinks in the kitchen, which he offered to them as they entered. They were tentative, cautious, and worried. Given what they had been through, it was understandable.

Scott looked like he would rather be anywhere else, but he stood up in front of the club chair at the front of the room. 

“Uhm. Okay. We got a lot to go over tonight.” He swallowed. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do on the full moon.”

Alan wouldn’t be saying anything during this meeting unless he was asked. He stood a little behind Scott and to the side, content to let them determine their own futures. Directly behind him, the Brokaw clock stood, solid and ready. Its ticking marked every new step into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always get angry when people talk about Deaton not doing more as if he had some obligation to do more. It seemed that supplying the characters with medical care, investigating supernatural events, allowing them to use his clinic, performing rituals, running off to Japan and Russia, or enduring Valack's gaze for Derek or the fear chamber in Eichen wasn't enough. They are more than willing to stan Peter who never did anything without being forced to do it or getting something out of it, but then complain constantly about Deaton being 'cryptic' (while not actually pointing out when he was cryptic) and then paint him as bad guy with a sinister agenda. 
> 
> I just wanted to write a story where Deaton decided that he had a right to act rather than respecting people's boundaries and have them respect his.

**Author's Note:**

> I was unable to find a sensitivity reader. If people have suggestions, please feel free to leave comments.
> 
> I welcome all criticism as long as it is focused on the characters, plot, cultural sensitivity, and writing of this story. Please don't bring in my other works or commentary on other platforms into this. I especially appreciate having typos and grammatical mistakes pointed out.


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